Through the Eyes of the Blond
by SabakuNoStupid
Summary: Or "The Life and Times of Alfred F. Jones" Or "200  Years of UST" Or "APUS History in a sexy nutshell" or "Re should just pick a goddamn title already." All kind of get the point across. A fanfic that spans all of America's history. OC!States, UKUS later.
1. Childhood Bliss

**A/N:** Hello, and welcome to "Through the Eyes of the Blond!" I'm very happy to have pulled myself out of my "No fanfics ever, rawr" spree and go back to writing with characters I only wish I had come up with. I wrote this for the sake of studying for APUS history, but I thought that it would be fun, since I was writing this anyway, to share with whomever wants it.

As this was made to help me in an American history class, there will be a lot of historical figures and OC!States in this. "But _why _is there more than one America in this, Re-Re? There's only one in the canon!" Why, I'm glad you asked! You see, American history has always been marked by a fair amount of sectionalism. It still is. Now, it's nowhere as bad as it was before the Civil War, but it's still there (Just ask a Northerner what they think of the south and vice versa, just ask someone from the East Coast what they think of the West coast). It would be almost impossible to give American History justice if there was only one America. All will be explained in due time.

Anyway, please enjoy my paltry offerings!

**Warnings: **A bit of headcanon (in case my a/n was TL;DR), and South Carolina's mouth.

In the year 1607 the first permanent English Settlement was founded. It was called Jamestown and was in the new colony of Virginia. It was one beacon of civilization in the middle of seemingly endless wilderness. The settlers had a rough life. Of course, the fact that they were all mercenaries who didn't know how to live in the wild, founded their town in a malaria-filled swamp, and drank from the same water they used as a toilet probably had something to do with it. Many died in the first year, and those that didn't had to work tooth and nail just to survive. And yet, they _did _survive, and many more English settlements were founded all along the east coast of America. This is the story of those colonies and the superpower that they would later become.

Through the Eyes of the Blond

Or The Life and Time of Alfred F. Jones

Or 200-Plus years of UST

Or AP US History in a sexy nutshell

Or Re should just pick a goddamn title already

Wow, just look at that pretty font. It's so nice and big, too. Too bad you can't see it because you're reading this somewhere that makes everything all Twelve-Point-Font-Times-New-Roman-y. Sucks for you. Title pages are such wonderful things and-

Oh right, Colonial!America.

Well, in the seventeenth century, the land mass that would later become America was split between three great and powerful empires: Spain to the south, France to the west, and England to the east. Out of all three, England had the least amount of land, but they worked with what they had. The main cash crop at this time was Tobacco, you know, for cancer sticks. But they didn't know that at the time, and even if they did they probably wouldn't have cared (besides, God only made you sick if you sinned. _Everyone _knew that). Because of its ability to grow the plant, Virginia quickly became a large and powerful colony.

In spite of this, and the fact that he was the first born, he isn't the America we know and are annoyed by today. Good thing, too, because he was all aristocratic and full of himself and we only need one Austria in this series, no matter what Hungary may say. The reason for this is that Virginia, for all its tobacco, wasn't very urbanized. Most of the people who lived there were farmers. There was another colony that would hold the powerful urban center of the age.

In the year 1630, a man named John Winthrop led 1,000 people to a new settlement in the colony of Massachusetts. It was to be "A City on A Hill," both figuratively and literally. In addition to being a place that shouldn't have to worry about floods very often, it was supposed to be a paradigm of morality. He named the city Boston.

Needless to say, it didn't exactly work. With its huge natural harbor, Boston became a major trade hub. This attracted all sorts of people who just wanted to make money. However, this wasn't all that bad. The massive amounts of trading in its main city made Massachusetts the colony that had the most contact with Britain.

Now, onto the bishies. Because we all know that's the only reason most of you care about this series.

April 12, 1691: Outskirts of Boston

"America!" England called, climbing up a hill on the outskirts of the town, "Are you up here? It's England! I've come to see you!"

As the blond reached the crest of the hill he saw the child, hair as sunny as his personality, playing with a rabbit.

"Big brother England!" the boy called, forgetting the rodent and running over to wrap his arms around the older nation's thigh. His words were muffled by England's hip, but he said something that sounded like, "It's so good to see you! I missed you so much!"

"I know," the older blond said, ruffling his ward's soft hair, "I missed you too. But I do have other colonies and other responsibilities to go with them."

The boy looked up, his lower lip sticking out in an adorable little pout and his huge blue eyes threatening to fill with tears.

England sighed. His colony was so dramatic sometimes. Where did he get that from? It certainly wasn't England. It must have been France, that wine-sipping, colony-stealing bastard. "Oh don't give me that," He said, his tone sharp so that America knew England wasn't just playing around, "Stiff upper lip and all that. You're still a part of me after all."

"Bit I'm just a kid and you always leave me alone, and I'm always so scared you'll never come back."

England almost faltered at that. Almost. But if he let America get away with that now, the boy would grow to believe he always would. So instead, England smiled at the colony. He gently unwrapped his tiny arms from his legs and kneeled down to peer into those eyes, bluer than the sea and just as deep.

"Now listen," He said, "Haven't I always returned as quickly as I could?"

"Yeah," America said, his lip sticking out even further, "But it's still _way _too long, England."

"Well, it's made you stronger, hasn't it?"

"I guess," He sniffled.

"And you _need _to be strong. There are all sorts of challenges that come to living here. Savages are everywhere, and that damned frog and Spain keep trying to take you from me-"

"Then why do you leave me? If it's so dangerous, why don't you help me face those things?"

England thought back to that day just over sixty years ago, when America had leapt from his arms and swung that bison around and around, and shook his head, "Because you don't need me to,"

"Yes I do! I need you, big brother England!"

England chuckled and ran his fingers through the short blond hair of the boy before him, "Can you even see how much you've grown?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" America said, "I'm still so tiny. Most of my people don't think I'm a day over five."

"Yes, but do you remember the last time I came? It was only a year ago, and even kneeling like this you would only meet my chest. Now you're at eye level."

The boy gasped, "You're right! Aw man, this is so cool! Hey, England, will I be as tall as you someday?"

"Maybe," England said, "it all depends." That was better, America was happy again, so now that meant that he could stand again, right.

However, as soon as he tried, America spoke up. "I-I mean that's just because my borders changed a little. And-and I'm still so tiny! I'm 70 already! Some people I used to play with have grandchildren!"

England was torn between rolling his eyes and laughing. Of course if America wanted to continue this game, England would go on right with him. What was the point of going three thousand miles if he couldn't play with his little brother?

"Do you know how long it took me to get to be as tall as you are now?" He baited the boy.

"No? How long?" America asked eagerly.

"Three hundred years."

"Woah! No way!"

The budding empire chuckled, "What's that phrase you use? Yes way."

"But you're so big and strong and stuff!"

"Trust me, it's recent. I was only about ten in human years until the mid 14th century."

"Wow…" America breathed.

"Do you know why it took me that long?" England asked.

"No, why?"

It was never easy to be an empire. So many misbehaving children to keep an eye on. So many of those Continent bastards trying to steal everything he worked so hard to get. But sometimes it was worth it. Now was one of those times. When America, his little America, was looking up at him with eyes bigger and bluer than any sapphire any king could claim, purer and clearer than the wide windows of any palace in Europe. He was listening to intently, as though England was about to reveal all the secrets of heaven and earth to the child before him.

It wasn't money that England longed for, or power or vast natural recourses. Maybe that was what the wealthy at home wanted out of the new lands, but England didn't need any of it. It was times like this, when he could look into the eyes of his colony and knew that the boy loved him, that he needed. It was times like this that let him know that everything was worth it.

"It took me so long to grow," He said softly, "Because I always had someone taking care of me."

"England, there are people strong enough boss you around?"

England turned red and started sputtering. At a younger age, America would have said something embarrassing, whether he meant it to be so or not. The boy would have laughed and said in such a sweet little voice, "big brother England, your face is such a pretty color! Like sunsets and ripe tomatoes and-" But now the child was at least a little bit older and a mite wiser for it, so he just stood there smiling innocently and waiting for his mentor to relax.

England coughed and tried to force his blush down. If a child such as America could be civil, so could England. After all, he was a gentleman, pirate or no.

"They- They didn't boss me around," He said finally, "I-I just let them think that they were in charge of be because it made them feel better. See? Your big brother is _nice." _

America giggled. "_I _know that already! Whenever you come you hold me and give me presents and even let me sleep in the big bed with you."

England stood and puffed out his chest, "And don't you forget it!"

"I won't," America said, giggling some more, "Don't worry, England. I never could forget that because you're the best big brother in the whole wide world and I'm gonna love you forever!"

England blushed again, this time due to flattery instead of embarrassment. However, he could neither hide that blush nor the smile that spread across his face. He lifted the boy into his arms. He was getting heavier, but thankfully he was still light enough for moment like this.

"I will too, America, I will too." He pressed his cheek against the boy's and in his head added, _"Even when you're old enough to be on your own, when you don't need me to come see you anymore. When you're a fully-grown nation, even then I'll still love you."_

He expected the colony to grip his shirt and rub his face against England's own, but he never did. Instead the boy opened his mouth again.

"Why do you always call me that?" He asked.

"Call you what?" England said, bushy eyebrows furrowing.

"America."

England snorted and changed the way he was holding the boy so that they could look at each other again, "Because that's your name."

"But it's my _last _name. How am I supposed to know if you mean me or one of my siblings?"

"Siblings?" England asked.

* * *

"Hey everyone! I'm back and I brought big brother England with me!" Americ- No, Massachusetts called out.

England had to keep reminding himself of that. He had always assumed that there was just one America. Now there were thirteen? It made sense, he supposed. After all, his people had founded thirteen reasonably-sized colonies, not one mammoth one. But how long had the others been hiding? Why didn't they greet him like their brother had? England remembered when he first met the boy. He had been awfully shy, just playing around in the grass, not worrying about talking to England until the older nation talked to him. Maybe his siblings were even shyer? Maybe they were too afraid of the older nations to come and talk to them? In that case, they probably just needed love, and they would come out of their shells. There might be twelve more cute little siblings to love and adore him. Wouldn't that be wonderful?

"The fuck were you thinking, bringing that limey bastard in here for?"

Or not.

England looked at the speaker. He appeared far too small and adorable for the rough voice and filthy words that had poured from his mouth. It was another boy, about Am- _Massachusetts_' physical age or a little younger. The similarities didn't end there. He looked just like the other boy, but with hair the color of dried tobacco. His hair didn't have his brother's characteristic cowlick either. Instead, there was one stubborn piece of hair that hung down right above his left eye.

"I know you open your ports to him like you're some _whore, _but that doesn't mean that he needs to come here to boss us around too. Jesus Christ, Ply, why'd you do that?"

The other boy had obviously meant to shame Massachusetts, but he had a more profound effect on the older blond. To hear such mean things said about the two of them by a boy who looked so much like the brother he loved so dearly…

Massachusetts on the other hand, brushed it off like dust on a mantle, "Aw, drop dead, Carol.6 He's our big brother, so he has the right to know all of us, and he's in charge so if you have a problem you can always count on him. Besides," He frowned, "you shouldn't use God's name like that."

"I can use God's name however I damn well please, fucking heretic!" The brunet snapped, ignoring Massachusetts' point about whether or not England should be there.

The blond's frown became a pout, "How come someone who's all blah-blah-blah-my-rights is mad about people trying to practice their faith in peace?"

"Yeah," South Carolina said, "because hanging innocent women is practicing your faith in peace."

"Shut it you hick! At least I don't pray to the dirt like a savage!"

England just stood there, mouth agape. What had happened to his little blond angel from less than an hour ago?

"Boys," He said, "Be nice to each other!"

The pair, of course, ignored him.

"I do no such thing!" South Carolina cried, blushing furiously, "That's a lie your stupid preachers make up in those shacks you call meeting houses! Of course, that's what you get for letting women speak at church!"

"Those are Quakers, idiot!"

"Please," A little blonde girl said, "Don't fight. We all believe in Jesus, so what difference does it make?"

"A huge one, filthy papist!" Yelled South Carolina

"Yeah, stay out of this, Maryland!" Massachusetts cried, agreeing with his brother for once.

"Now children," England said, "Children!" They still ignored him, "CHILDREN!"

"Oh, don't try to break it up," Said a voice next to him. A boy with ash-blond hair and England's eyes, or at least his eyebrows, said, rubbing his temple, "They're impossible. They won't even listen to the big brother who's here all the time. Anyway, would you like some tea, Mr. England?"

"S-sure," the young empire said, "I would like that very much."

The boy bowed, "Well then, please accompany me to the kitchen."

"Let me guess," England said, "Virginia right?"

The boy smiled and opened his eyes, forest green as England had expected, "Of course, but how did you know?"

England smiled, "Someone named for my dear Bess has to be an agreeable chap." He glanced at the three on the ground, who had gone from battling with words to fists. It reminded him a bit too much of home for comfort. He turned back to the only colony that was being the slightest bit rational, "Now about that tea…"

"Cream and sugar?" Virginia asked.

"Yes, thank you," replied England.

Virginia placed a bowl and cream pitcher on the worn oak table in front of his sovereign. England thanked him and began to doctor his tea, keeping an eye on the boy all the while. He was certainly different from his brothers, who England could_ still_ hear fighting in the sitting room. He was more relaxed, quieter, and gentler. He looked about older too; he was almost at the end of his boyhood. He had that look about him that someone had grabbed his arms and legs and just tugged him to his current height. England wondered if the boy would grow into that height, or remain long and thin like Scotland.

"I'm sorry that _those _three are the ones that you had to meet." He said, reaching for the sugar, "They're so childish, it's hard to believe Ply is as big as he is on a map."

"Well," England said, "Before today I thought he was an awful lot bigger. It's kind of nice to know that there are so many of you here together." _"It helps me feel better about leaving," _He thought.

"Yes, but why couldn't you meet Georgia, or Pennsylvania, or even _Delaware? _They're so much better behaved."

"At least I got to meet you, Virginia," England said, smiling at his new brother before taking a sip of his tea. He smiled. It was _much _better than the stuff that Massachusetts had tried to make for him. Of course, he had forced a smile and choked the brew down, since it was his beloved baby brother that made it, but it was so nice to know that some of the colonists could at least make decent tea. "This is wonderful, by the way," He added, gesturing to his drink.

"Thank you, Mr. England, I am honored on both accounts."

"You needn't be so formal with me. You can just call me England, or big brother if you'd like."

"It's quite alright," Virginia said, "You deserve respect."

England's smile dropped. He had hoped- oh never mind, "If only your brothers would learn that," He jabbed, taking a sip of his tea.

"Yes," Virginia said, chuckling over his own cup, "If only."

The two of them drank in silence save the profanity and banging from the other colonies for a while until England decided to ask the question that he had been pondering since he had met the boy.

"Virginia?"

"Yes?" Green eyes looked up from the cup to meet an identical pair that had been looking at him for quite some time.

"Why are you so much older than the others?" England asked.

Virginia smiled, but there was no happiness in his eyes. He set his cup carefully upon its saucer and looked into the brew for a while. "Bacon," He finally said.

"Come again?" England asked.

"Nathaniel Bacon." Virginia said, looking back up at England again.

"I'm afraid that I still don't understand."

"It was fifteen years ago," The colony sighed, "A man named Nathaniel Bacon found poor men, riled them up, and tried to use them to become my boss instead of your governor."

"Ah yes," England said. Come to think of it, he remembered hearing of something like that. Of course, it wasn't that big of a deal because, "It was put down though, wasn't it?"

"Well, of course, since I'm talking to you," Virginia let out a dry chuckle, "But that's not the point. It made me think."

He looked out the window and England did likewise. It was a beautiful spring day. The trees outside already had leaves. Birds fluttered about the branches, chirping sweetly.

"What are we?" Virginia asked, "Nations, I mean. Are we our people at all, or just our land? If we're people, are we all of them, or just those in power? And do we have our own feelings, or are we just indicators of what either group is feeling?"

England waited for the boy to continue. He recognized those questions. They were ones he had asked himself; that _all_ nations asked themselves. England had had answers at one point, but then realized slowly that they just couldn't be answered, and as soon as he had an idea it would be proven wrong. However, he still wanted to hear what Virginia had to say. Eventually, he ran out of patience.

"So what did you decide?" He asked.

Virginia smiled and looked back at England, "What makes you think I did?" He asked, before sipping his tea again in silence.

As for England, he smiled and picked up his cup again. _"This boy," _He thought, _"Is not at _all _like his brothers." _

**

* * *

**

**History Notes: **

**England: **From 927 to 1707, there was actually a Kingdom of England. It became the Kingdom of Great Britain in 1707, when Scotland finally joined up. It became "And Ireland" in 1801. When most of Ireland jumped ship in 1922, the country was finally renamed "The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland." Personally, I like Kingdom of England better. It's a hellova lot shorter. That being said, the Americas will still probably call him England because very few of them are the kind of people who can switch what they call other people, and even fewer care.

"**It's made you stronger" **Throughout the seventeenth and the early half of the eighteenth century, the American Colonies were treated with something called Statutory Neglect. This means that they kind of just left their colonies alone and it actually helped the colonies. During this time, England barely taxed them, in spite of what Revolutionaries would later say, and didn't really worry about what they did as long as the colonies produced goods and money. There were some attempts at controlling them, such as installing Royal Governors and the Navigation acts (which said basically that America could only trade with England), but no one really worried about either of them.

"**My boarders have changed a little":** In 1691, the Plymouth colony became part of the colony of Massachusetts.

**Mid 14****th**** century: **In addition to being the year of the leet, 1337 was the beginning of the hundred years' war between France and England. I figure that this is what caused the pair to grow up, since they were still children in the 11th century, but were older by the time Joan of Arc came around (early 15th century)

**Tomatoes: **Yes, I know that tomatoes are more of a South Italy and/or Spain thing, but tomatoes are actually native to South America. However, by 1710 they were reported in South Carolina. It's not too much of a stretch to think that Massachusetts might have seen a few by this point, especially since in the beginning they were grown as ornamental plants. I can _so _imagine N. Carolina going, "Hey, check this out! Betcha can't grow _these _in your stinking port city!" XD

"**Carol":** were governed separately in spite of being one colony at this point. This is South Carolina, a place that was quite outspoken and rebellious until after the Civil War. His hair, by the way, is Lake Marion. He has a twin sister that is the northern half. They were split in two in 1729.

**Colonial religions: **in Massachusetts at the time: The Quakers allowed anyone to speak at Sabbath meetings, yes, even women. The puritans are the guys in the Thanksgiving story. They did not wear buckles on their hats, however they _did_ hold the Salem Witch trials. It is a common misconception that women were burned at these trials. As it turns out, they were hanged (which is the proper term, by the way, not hung). Maryland was founded as a haven for English Catholics, a group despised on their home island and most of America. It was the first colony to pass a religious toleration act. You could be whatever faith you wanted to be. Just remember, devil worship is no faith, and any God but the Christian one is a devil. Obviously.

**A/N** Well, there's chapter one! Chapter two, we'll be skipping forward to the end of the French and Indian war. This kind of makes me sad, I'll miss writing BB!America; he's just so cute! Maybe I'll do another fic after this one.

See you next time on "Through the Eyes of the Blond!"


	2. Growing Rift

**A/N: **Look! I actually came back! We'll see how long this lasts.

Anyway, I made a character sheet so that those of you keeping score at home can remember all the OCs. 'Tis here: sabakunostupid(dot)deviantart(dot)com/journal/37906307/

I think that's it for now, not much to say before I get into this one.

Please enjoy my paltry offerings!

**Warnings: **OC!Colonies, Mild gore, Mild swearing… You think I should change the rating?

Well, obviously a bunch of stuff happened between 1691 and 1768. However, the only thing important enough to affect the plot was the French and Indian war. Or the seven years war if you're British or trying not to confuse young children, but where's the fun in that? Basically, in 1754 France, who already had a stronghold on most of modern-day America, decided that he wanted England's colonies as well and sent in his army to take them. England obviously was not too happy about that and sent in his own army. After, you guessed it, seven years of fighting, the British and colonists won. England gained all the land from the Appalachian Mountains to the Mississippi river. He also got Florida, but no one cared right then because it was pretty much all swamp, couldn't make large quantities of orange juice yet, and he somehow ended up giving it back to Spain anyway. Oh, and the rest of that one place that makes a nice hat for America. What was it called again? Aw, who cares?

Anyway, this treaty was signed in Paris at the time stated and underlined just under this awesome introduction. That is where we meet back up with the adorable little landmasses.

February 10th, 1763: Paris, France

Ply was trying to read a newspaper (and failing. Why couldn't he get an English paper in France?) when he heard a key turning the lock of the room France had put him and England up in. He was so eager he almost held his breath. He would finally be the first one to hear what had gone on at the meeting. Since he was only a colony, England had always said that he couldn't come to the treaty negotiations. However, his elder brother was good enough to let him at least come to Paris after begging him since before the last shots were fired.

It was a pretty swanky place too. Not the city itself. Paris was just like any other city: dirty, stinky, and full of death and despair. The hotel, though, was _amazing. _The bed was as soft as the ear of a rabbit. The late-afternoon sun shined gold into the room, giving the wallpaper a positively gilded look. However, even without it the candleholders upon the walls and bedside tables were colored to look like the precious metal. There was a large mirror directly opposite of the bed. The mahogany writing desk had plenty of space so that one could spread out whatever you happened to want to look at. Even stupid papers that were written in a language you didn't understand.

Not that it was perfect being in France. Ply couldn't really go anywhere, since he would probably get lost in the wild web of streets that all had similar names and if he took one wrong turn and didn't notice right away, he wouldn't be able to get back because he couldn't ask for directions. Also, there was only one key for the room and England had it, so even if he didn't get lost he would have to sit outside the door like some dog until his master came to let him in.

Plus, there was only one bed. Sleeping with England never bothered Ply much when he was a child. It was comforting to be held against such a large, warm body. To know that his brother loved him enough to let down his ever-present mask of absolute invincibility and just be a loving caretaker.

But now… things were different.

First of all, England was smaller than Ply now. He had been for years, but it became obvious during the war - the war that they had just finished fighting – when Ply had been so frightened in the night that the savages or French would come and get him that he had snuck into England's tent. The elder nation understood and held him, but it was so odd that now the island nation's arms barely met when they were wrapped around his "little" brother. It probably shouldn't have bothered Ply, but it did. It somehow made England feel smaller, like he couldn't protect Ply like he could before.

And then there was the fact that England just didn't make his colony feel the same anymore. Whenever Ply saw his big brother's sails coming over the horizon he would feel warm, safe. England was his sweet, loving older brother, teacher, _god _even, and he would always protect him. But things were different now because Ply knew a different England, and he wasn't sure how safe and loved he felt anymore.

He now knew a man who was unimpressive in stature but whose barbaric strength and inhuman bloodlust more than made up for it. He knew a man that would sing folksongs and lullabies in Welsh and Latin as his hair was dyed red with the blood of dozens of Frenchmen. He knew the harsh laugh that would come out of that man's throat when he switched to French for the sake of seeing his enemies' faces when they realized they were being shot and stabbed to the songs that their mothers sang to them. It terrified Ply to his core. He was more afraid of England than he was of ghosts. And ghosts were fuckin' scary!

But on the other hand, watching him also inspired complete fascination on the part of the younger blond. Ply thought back to those bloody, horrid battles. The way that thin lithe body positively swim among corpses was absolutely breathtaking. England's saber was clutched firmly in his hand; the steel seemed to be nothing more than a natural extension of his arm. His eyes were full of fiery passion the likes of which Ply had never seen. The notes he sang were smooth and flowing like rolling hills covered in long grass even when the words almost made him sound like he was gargling rocks. In the midst of panic, he was relaxed. In the middle of a war, he was at peace. Something about him when he was in that zone was absolutely beautiful.

Now only if England would recognize that the colonies had changed too. Ply frowned. Why did the Brit keep treating them like they were kids? It wasn't fair! They had fought too. Maybe they weren't as good at it as England, but they had still done an awesome job! In fact-

Ply was brought out of his mental rant as the door finally swung open to reveal his enigma of a mentor. England walked in and shrugged off his coat. He looked so tired and maybe even, Ply shuddered to think, _old. _He was so different from both Englands in the colony's memory.

"_Ugh." _He thought, _"Please don't make me meet _another _England!" _

However, as the older man opened his eyes, the younger saw that they were the same as the ones who had looked down at him for almost as long as he could remember. This was the England from his childhood, wholly and completely. Thank god. Ply smiled

"So how'd it go?" He asked eagerly.

"Wonderfully," England said, smiling as he sat down on the edge of the bed, "I got everything I wanted."

"That's awesome!" The American's smile widened, "So does that mean that we get to keep Ana and Louis?"

"That's right; the _two pieces of East Louisiana_ will be living with you from now on."

"Yess!" Ply hissed, ignoring England's correction. He was so happy! He loved kids; they were so much easier to understand than adults.

"So let's blow this oversized cheese stand so I can go home and stop wearing these stuffy clothes!"

England scowled, "You know, adults aren't supposed to mind wearing nice clothes. You _are _an adult aren't you?"

"_You don't seem to think so." _Ply thought before saying, "Of course I am. I mean, I'm taller than you are. In fact," He laughed, "Maybe you should start calling _me _big brother!"

"Watch your tongue," England said, going into teacher-mode. Stupid teacher-mode-England. "You still need me to take care of you, so _I'm _still your big brother."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ply pouted.

England snorted, "Oh really, who's the only one you trade with, then?"

Oh, he wanted to play it that way, did he? Well then. "That's only because you passed those laws that make it _illegal _for us to trade with anyone else."

"It was to help you," England explained calmly.

"What?"

"Look at how many ships you're building. Look at how much tobacco Maryland and Virginia are exporting. Look at how my navy is protecting you."

"We don't need protection!" Ply exclaimed, "Didn't you notice how hard my boys, all our boys, fought?"

"Listen," England said, rolling his eyes, "It doesn't matter how _hard _your soldiers fight, it matters how _well _they can fight. Let's be honest, France was beating your collective arses until I stepped in."

"We were doing fine!"

"You were losing!"

"Yeah, but we turned it around!"

"With my help!"

"Shut up!"

"You _beg _me to take you to the treating signing, and now you're just harassing me?" England snarled.

"Shut up!" Ply yelled again.

"Listen to me for once you ungrateful brat! We're running out of money due to a war we fought for _your _sake and now you're acting like a child and saying we shouldn't have been involved."

"I said shut up!" Ply screamed.

England was going to open his mouth again, but Ply lifted a hand and smacked him across the cheeks. Yes, it was harsh. No, it probably _wasn't _the best idea. But did it feel good? Yes. Did he deserve it? _Fuck _yes.

The older blond lifted his hand to his cheek slowly. So slowly, in fact, that Ply was afraid that he had literally smacked the man stupid. Eventually, those thin fingers touched the reddening skin. His eyes were wide and disbelieving. Ply just stared back, trying to appear determined and strong. He hoped that he did, but even if England didn't see it, the younger man felt it and that was good enough.

"You-" England gasped, "You-"

"I know that you want me to apologize," Ply said, "But I won't. I'm not sorry and, more importantly, you don't deserve it."

That was a mistake, because it seemed to break England out of his trance. His eyes darkened and his lips compressed into a hard line, "You have made one thing very clear to me, America," He said, apparently forgetting that Ply was just one colony again, "I've been too good to you. It's time that I become more involved in your affairs so that I can teach you the meaning of respect. And you, you are going to learn. You will learn how to treat me, and you will learn to start fulfilling your obligations as part of my empire."

Ply snarled but didn't raise his hand again. Instead, he just left.

He ventured into the streets of Paris and managed to locate another inn that looked cheap enough for him to afford. He gave the woman at the desk all the money he had. Apparently it was enough because she gave him a key. The blond stormed up the stairs, unlocked his door, and immediately plopped down on the bed.

The wallpaper was pealing. The bed was hard and smelled funny. There was only a small window and it faced a brick wall.

Still, it was more comfortable than sleeping with England.

February 15th 1774: Boston, Massachusetts

Ply shivered as he fumbled in his pockets for his key. He hated winter period, but he especially hated this part. It had been winter for _months _and any time now it should thaw, but Mother Nature just wouldn't give up trying to freeze his soil five feet deep. Oh well. He was almost home now, and soon he could get a nice big fire started so that he could maybe, _maybe _unfreeze his nasal passages.

However, as he approached his house, he saw something odd. There was light peeking through the curtains of one of his windows. He furrowed his brow. He lived alone, after all. For a while, he had helped take care of Ana and Louis, but they had moved in with Virginia as soon as they had the opportunity. They were still free spirits, and needed to be somewhere near their lands, after all. If any of his siblings were coming, usually they warned him in advance. One hand held his key, and the other quickly found the hilt of the dagger he kept in his cloak. He slowly unlocked the door and peeked inside.

There was no one that he could see from this angle. He carefully pushed the door all the way open. Still nothing. He pulled the dagger out of his sheath and tentatively took a step inside. Yet unopposed, he walked into his sitting room, where the light was coming from. He left the door wide open, in case he needed to run. However, instead of finding a burglar, he found-

"Ah, I'm glad you've decided to join us. I came to the colonies to try to see my favorite little brother, but it seems he was replaced by a common hoodlum. Would you please help me find him?"

-England.

Ply swallowed. There was no kindness, no love in his brother's eyes. His stare was so harsh Ply was surprised he didn't burst into flames. England was sitting in Ply's favorite chair. Well, flopped over, more like. One arm of the chair supported the Brit's knee and the other held up his elbow, letting him easily support his chin on his hand. He was still wearing his privateer's apparel. The knee-high leather boots shined in the firelight. His coat was flung over the back of the chair, leaving him in his vest, shirt, and cravat. His hat, however, was still upon his head, the wide rim and blood red feathers adding to the air of majesty and power England always possessed.

"Oh?" The pirate said, swinging his leg back around so that he was sitting properly before crossing one thigh over the other, "it appears that the rat _does _know something. Well then, I suppose I must find out what it is. Virginia, please close the door, if you wouldn't mind; it's getting rather chilly."

For the first time, Ply took his eyes off of England. It seemed as though the empire had forced some of the other colonies to come along. And to make it worse, he had picked the ones that Ply had always played with as a child. Peaches, Virginia, Carol, Mary and New York stood before him now, all stone-faced and still with the exception of Virginia who had gone to do what England had asked.

"Now," England said, standing up "I believe you know what you did. So what made you think," He crossed over to Ply in three short steps and softly said, "That you could get away with it?"

* * *

Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. It was to be a time when you gathered with your family to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Normally, that was what the American Colonies did. For a while anyway.

Usually, Ply and Carol would end up slightly drunk and wrestling on the floor. Mary would just watch for a while, until one of the boys said something stupid or got too close and she would join in with full force. Georgia, or Peaches as they called her, and North would be begging them to stop. Virginia would shepherd Louis and Ana out of the room muttering something along the lines of "Those two never change…" and the children would be struggling to get free so that they could see which of their brothers won, typically shouting angrily in French which only served to make Virginia pull harder.

This year, however, everything was quiet. Louis and Ana had been handed off to Canada, and the adults were all sitting around the big dining table in Virginia's house. Everyone's eyes were fixed on Ply. Every single pair was sharp and accusing. Was there no one who realized why he did what he did? No one who supported their hero of a brother?

Hero, he liked the sound of that. Probably because that's what he was. He was the hero, the misunderstood good guy standing up to the evil that was oppressing them all. So what were they thinking, looking at their savior like he had committed some crime?

Well, technically he had, but it was for the greater good!

Eventually, Carol got tired of just sitting there and glaring at his older brother. He stood up and slammed his hand on the table.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He demanded, "England already thinks were a bunch of ungrateful bastards over here and now you had to go and make it all worse!"

"Seriously Ply," Mary said, apparently deciding that it was okay for her to join in now too. "The past few years you've done nothing but contradict our big brother at every turn and now _this._"

"You can't say you guys have been happy about what he's been doing!" Ply countered, "Carol, you threw a fit when he drew that line ten years ago because you wanted to go farther west. Peaches, you were totally pissed when he taxed everything on paper because you could barely afford to read your novellas. And Virginia," Ply stared hard at his older brother, the one who had decided to have this conversation on _Christmas _of all days. "Wasn't it one of your boys who gave us that great quote, 'No taxation without representation'?"

"Yes," The aristocrat said, "It was. But all of us, Ply, we used _words. _We spoke to England. You dumped three hundred fifty chests of his tea into Boston Harbor!"

"He was asking for it." Ply said, defensively, "Putting all those taxes on-"

"Even with the tax," Mary said, "It was still cheaper than all that stuff The Netherlands smuggled in for you."

"You just don't understand," Ply said, falling back on the age-old teenage cry, "You don't see the principles that needed to be defended."

"Yeah, your principles of never answering to anyone, especially England."

"Oh, _you're_ one to talk, Carol."

"As much as I usually support you," New York said, "I must say Carol has a point."

"Traitor!" Ply cried, "You make most of your money off of merchants too! England is robbing you, just like he's doing to me!"

"Look," New York said, brushing some of his nearly-white hair behind his ear, "First of all, he founded most of you guys, so you all owe him. The only one who has any right to complain is me, since The Netherlands had me first. However, I'm still not mad at England because he protected us. He's in trouble because he came across the sea to keep France from getting his filthy hands on us. He even gave us two more siblings. You of all people, Ply, should remember all that he did for us. He loved you the most; he helped you grow the most. And now, now when he finally needs us, you want to just _leave._"

"If he needs us," Ply said, "He wouldn't be abusing us like this!"

"You think that this is abuse?" Carol demanded, "We still barely pay anything like the taxes people in England pay!"

"I-"

"You're just running away because you don't like what he's doing! _You're _the traitor, not New York! You're a traitor and a filthy coward!"

"Say that again." Ply said softly, standing up and clenching his fists, "Say it again Carol, I dare you."

"ENOUGH!" Virginia yelled, standing abruptly.

Both Ply and Carol jumped. They hadn't expected such an explosion from Virginia. Had he even ever yelled before?

"Look, right now the last thing that we need to do is fight amongst ourselves."

Ply sat back down and blushed, "You're- you're right."

Virginia smiled, "I think that that may have been the first time I've heard you say that to me."

"Well," Ply smiled, "Usually you just tell me off, but you really are right this time. We can't be fighting each other; we have to be fighting _England." _

"No we don't." Georgia said, "He's not done _anythang_ to hurt any of us."

"'Not done anything to hurt us?" Ply asked, "He killed-"

"Massachusetts," Virginia said, "Please calm yourself. Only five people died."

"Yeah, only five _innocent _people."

"Innocent my ass," Carol said, "They were a _mob. _A mob that your dear friend Sam riled up, if I remember correct-"

"Don't you say anything about him!" Ply exclaimed.

"Why shouldn't I? He's nothing but a trouble maker. His one talent is motivating people, and how does he use it? To get you and your people whipped up into a frenzy with his propaganda and terrorist friends."

"Is it terrorism to show that tea-sipping bastard that he needs to respect us?"

"It is if you do it by destroying his property!"

"Can't we keep peace here for five minutes?" Virginia asked.

"Not when Carol here keeps persecuting me like this. But I guess I have to be the mature one here," Ply said, rising to his feet, "You guys obviously aren't going to hear me out, and even if you did you wouldn't understand." He grabbed his cloak from near the back door, pausing at the threshold, "You never understand anymore."

And with that he walked out into the snowy Williamsburg night.

* * *

"Well?" England asked quietly, "I'm waiting for my answer."

Ply wanted him to yell, he really did. He could deal with an England screaming his lungs out. He could deal with an England ranting. What he couldn't deal with was an England this quiet, this in control. It was frightening beyond anything that the young man had experienced. His mentor's voice was soft; the thin hand pressed against his colony's chest was light. And yet, it was impossible to think that England was anything but infuriated. His words were like thin ice, they seemed to be perfectly safe but one wrong step and Ply would fall into freezing cold water. The young nation could feel the way that those fingers itched; how they were prepared to grab his throat as soon as he did anything England didn't like.

Ply wanted so badly to fall to his knees, to curl up at England's boots and beg for forgiveness. His heart was racing, and he was sure that his mentor could feel it just by the smirk on his face.

But no, Ply wouldn't fall. Not now. He had come this far. If he were to back out, he would never forgive himself.

He forced the shakiness from his voice and asked, "What makes you think I dreamed of getting away with it?"

England laughed. It was a harsh biting sound completely unlike that of a hundred years ago when he and Ply had played in the grass outside of town or in the big house in the country. His eyes had sparkled with happiness when he looked down at his only, as far as he knew at least, little brother. And now- now-

No. Just no. Ply couldn't think this way. It would make him sick for sure.

"Ah, so you're not quite that stupid." England said, "Good, maybe then you'll learn something from all this. Not a good chance, but I'll take it."

"What are you going to do to me?" Ply asked.

He had heard horror stories before from sailors in the taverns. They told tales of terrible, terrible things that had happened to either themselves or their shipmates when they made England mad. Ply had heard it all: whippings so horrible that men would bleed for days, being bound to the mast and not given food or drink until they were at death's door, ears and noses cut off, people being attached to a rope and thrown overboard to be run over by the boat again and again and cut by the barnacles on the keel, sometimes if the sailor had done something particularly awful he would be tied up, covered in honey, and put in the bilge so that the rats and filth could kill him.

He hadn't quite believed those stories before, there was no way that England would be so awful to someone he was responsible for. But now, seeing the look in those green eyes, he believed it. The colony dreaded what was coming. What was the man planning? It seemed as though he was thinking it over himself.

"You've committed a terrible crime, colony," he said, "In fact; I believe that this is one of the worst offenses I've ever had to deal with."

"_Oh God," _Ply thought, _"This is it. I'm dead. He's going to kill me. Oh God, oh God, OH GOD!" _He began to visibly shake.

"However," England said, ignoring his future victim, "I suppose that it _is _partially my fault. I raised you like this, irreverent and independent. I am to blame as well."

"_Wait… Maybe, Maybe I _will_ survive this." _Ply allowed a sigh of relief to escape his lips. Huge mistake.

Green eyes flashed up to glare into blue, "Do you believe this means I'm letting you go? On the contrary. What this means is that it's my duty to set things right." He unfastened the leather whip from his belt. "I _will _break you, Massachusetts. I will break you until there are only the very smallest shards left, and then I will build you up again. This time, you will become the loyal little brother that you ought to be. If it's any condolence, this does _not _make me happy. If I had my way, I would never have to discipline you."

For a moment, there was a softness in England's face again. His eyes had gone from green like the sky before a tornado to green like leaves in the summertime. For one fleeting second, Ply saw the teenager that was happy to see him no matter the scenario. He saw the country that had loved him, plain and simple. But then that country was gone, and the _empire _before him looked on with much older, sharper features.

"But even I cannot always have my way. I have to make sure that my brother behaves himself, after all. If you choose to act like this, I have to punish you. That's just how it works. Now," He unfurled his whip. It at first had seemed to be a plain leather device, but now it was obvious that there were nine tails. It wasn't fair to mix punishments like that! Of course, Ply didn't say anything because if he did England would just come up with something worse, "Take off your shirt and face the wall."

For once, the blond did as he was told, but he was still not ready to give up. He braced himself and clenched his jaw.

He felt the tongues of the whip sting his back. It hurt, it hurt a lot. England was aiming for the shoulders, where there was no fat and little muscle to protect his brother. The colony bit down harder, England wouldn't hear him scream; he would _not. _Apparently reading the younger man's mind, England whipped him harder and made sure to hit some of the same places he had broken the skin before. Still, Ply held out. He would stay silent. And those were most certainly _not _tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, and even if they were, he was just blinking them back. This was nothing. It didn't hurt half as bad as when he was shot in the arm during the war, and he didn't cry then either. So then why was it so hard to do this now? He bit his lip so hard that it bled. England was getting irritated, he could tell. The blond wanted to hear his colony scream.

Well like hell he was getting it.

Eventually, though, Ply's elbows gave out and he collapsed against the wall. This seemed to be enough to satisfy England, as he stopped after that. Ply turned to watch as he wiped the blood off onto the white tablecloth. That was brand new, dammit!

"I hope you've learned your lesson." England said, "_All _of you. If any of you so much as _think _of trying _anything _like that, you'll end up even worse than him."

Ply didn't want to think of how bad he looked. He actually didn't feel too awful, but the others were looking on at him as though he had been dismembered. Mary was trying to hide her tears with her handkerchief. Carol just stood there with his mouth agape, seemingly confused about how horrible he felt seeing this happen when he himself had done worse things to his brother. New York, for all his gruffness, had fallen to his knees and buried his head in his hands. Peaches was sobbing openly, tears running down her face like the Flint River ran through her home. Virginia's lips were only parted slightly, but his eyes were wide and empty, just like after the battle of Lake George when he had first killed a man. When _most _of them had first killed, actually. When _England _had forced them all, even Peaches who always said she was so delicate, to the front lines with him. In spite of, or possibly because of, his shock Virginia was the first to speak.

"England," He said, "Big brother, what have you done to him?"

England took a few steps toward his oldest colony, "Less than I ought to have." He put on his coat and walked towards the door.

Ply grabbed the closest thing he could reach, a candle stick, and threw it towards England. It missed by a mile. The colony cursed.

"So that's how it's to be," England said, turning back for a moment "Well then, prepare yourself, little brother. I'm not nearly done yet." Still, he left without a fight.

The moment the door shut, the other colonies leapt to their brother's side. The held him, cleaned him, told him everything would be okay and swore on every relevant thing that England would pay.

None of them cared that no matter how much blood had spilled at one point, the cuts were already scabbing over. None of them noticed the tears that had already been in England's eyes before he left. None of them heard the stories of how the captain had walked back to his ship, demanded they leave, and then not said anything to anyone until he was back in London.

**

* * *

**

Historical Notes:

"**Those laws that make it **_**illegal **_**for us to trade with anyone else." **These are the Navigation Acts. As Ply said, they were laws that forbade the American colonies from trading with anyone else but England and other English colonies. The first of them were passed in 1651, but it didn't really bother anyone since the officials were easy to bribe and everyone ended up making money. Also, it did add all the positives that England listed.

"**Didn't you notice how hard my boys fought?" **Let's be honest here, the American army sucked. It sucked even during the revolution. The French and Indian war proved this to the British (because the proper term was British by this point). However, the colonists, in true American fashion, believed that they did most of the work and were the heroes of the war.

"**It's time that I become more involved in your affairs" **After the war and almost losing its colonies, Britain decided that it would drop that whole salutary neglect thing. They kept 10,000 soldiers in America and from there on out were much more involved. Of course, the colonists were overjoyed (/sarcasm)

**Dates: **The Tea Party took place on December 16th. Most likely, if all of the colonies came as quickly as possible the earliest they could have met was around Christmas time. Word of the event reached Britain in January (it took about three weeks to cross the Atlantic), so I figure England would have gotten there in February.

"**That line ten years ago" **This refers to the Proclamation of 1763. The British drew a line and said that people couldn't settle west of a line. This was to prevent hostilities with natives and also make the people easier to tax and control.

"**Everything on paper" **The stamp act of 1765 added a tax on everything on paper, from legal documents to cards. It was the first direct tax, so this bothered the people since they got to see the money they were paying?

"'**No taxation without representation'?" **Patrick Henry, Virginia house of Burgesses said this. He wanted Britain to recognize the rights of landowners to be represented in parliament (this came from the Magna Carta, written in the 13th century). Most likely, if Britain had given the colonies even one representative, they could have postponed the Revolution for many more years.

"**You dumped three hundred fifty chests of his tea into Boston Harbor!" **Even though we don't like to admit it, the Boston Tea Party was the act of a fringe group of terrorists known as the sons of liberty who were upset that Britain had given the East India Company a monopoly in America. They snuck aboard a tea ship and dumped 342 (I rounded, okay?) chests of tea into the harbor. The reaction was mixed to say the least, especially since the East India tea was still cheaper than the Smuggled Dutch tea, as Mary so helpfully pointed out.

"**We still barely pay anything like the taxes people in England pay!" **Carol is right. It's crazy how little tax the colonists paid. What really bothered them was that England had implemented those taxes without asking. In fact, their legislatures _would have most likely voted for the taxes had England requested it._ Just goes to show you how important saying please and thank you is. Your mom wasn't just making stuff up.

"**Only five people died."** The Boston Massacre: December 1770, a bunch of kids throw ice balls at British soldiers. One of them reaches out and smacks the brat a good one. So Sam Adams, second cousin of John Adams, head of the Sons of Liberty, and as thoroughly unpleasant as Carol makes him out to be, gets a mob going. Something (no one knows what) causes the British soldiers to fire. Five people do in fact die, but the papers blow this out of proportion. John Adams defended the soldiers at trial and managed to get an acquittal.

**Williamsburg:** Colonial capital of Virginia. It does on occasion get cold enough to snow there according to Wikipedia, and I figure that it happened more before global warming set in.

**England's Punishments: **Most of these are based on real punishments, but somewhat exaggerated. People were whipped into the 20th century in some commonwealths, and it could be quite awful depending on what happened. People were tied to masts as a punishment on pirate ships (likewise with the cutting off ears), and since England is a privateer (a pirate who works for a country's government) he would probably get away with this. Keel-hauling is as awful as it sounds, and was actually practiced. I'm not sure about the putting people in the bilge bit, but it sounded awful and nightmare-inducing when I thought of it. The Cat O' Nine Tails actually wasn't that bad, as they were usually made of rope. England's being made of leather would in fact be quite cruel.

"**Not that deep":** To be honest, even though the British did punish the people of Massachusetts, it was really more a show of power than to hurt them. Also, I don't think England has it in him to hurt his babie bwudder that badly.

**The other colonies' reaction to the punishment:** After the Boston Tea Party, the British passed what they called the "Coercive Acts" to make an example out of Massachusetts. They closed Boston's port until all the tea was paid for, they took power away from the assembly, they made it so they could take British officials and try them in Britain, and they forced the Bostonians (that is a real word, by the way) to provide homes for all the troops Britain wanted. These were called the "Intolerable Acts" in America, as they all violated the rights of Englishmen. This effectively turned Massachusetts into a martyr and made more people anti-British instead of scaring them into submission. Nice job breaking it hero indeed.

**A/N: **This one made me cry a little on the inside. The road to the American Revolution was _such _a case of two stubborn nations doing their bests not to give in to each other, no matter how much they wanted to be friends again.

But on the other hand, Scared!America and Pirate!England are hellova lot of fun to write.  
Also, if you really love me, get me an England sprawled across an armchair wearing any kind of period clothing. It will make me very, very happy. Until next time~


	3. Vive Le Revolution! part 1

**A/N:** Revolution time! Aw snapple, it's on now. This was a lot of fun to write, even though at some points I was tearing my own hair out going, "Why are you all so stupid?" But, you know, history is history.

Or so says the girl who always roots for the Empire…

Anyway, Enjoy my paltry offerings!

**Warnings: **OC!Colonies, inclusion of historical figures, mild swearing, a little bit of black humor, a meager attempt to copy Thomas Jefferson's writing style near the end, new and vaguely more obnoxious scene breaks since doesn't like me using three dashes or double spaces and DA hates the normal straight lines.

~O~O~O~

April 19, 1775: Lexington, Massachusetts

The sun rose crimson that morning. Crimson like Dawes' face after the 13 mile ride he made to tell them the news. Crimson like the coats the British wore as they advanced. Crimson, even, like the blood that would most likely be spilt once-

No, Ply couldn't think that way. Not now. Not when he could see the enemy approaching in the distance, their lines straight as their muskets. The blond repressed a shudder. Dear God, there were so many! There had to be hundreds of them, all in uniform and marching so systematically that the colony was almost surprised that the ground didn't shake every time they took a step.

Ply looked at his own men, eighty strong and most dressed in common clothing, maybe a leather vest over their shirts as some paltry sham of protection. They clutched their muskets tightly, as though the British would pull them from their hands simply by coming closer, and exchanged nervous glances.

They were, to use what Ply understood to be the scientific term, fucked.

A hand fell on the colony's shoulder and he turned to look. Captain Parker, just slightly more composed than the rest of the men, had come to the front of the room, where Ply watched the army approaching through the large leaded window.

"Massachusetts," He said, his rough quiet voice stern, "It's not safe here. You should go."

"Sorry, can you say that again?" Ply asked, "I must have heard wrong. It almost sounded like you said-"

"I did." He said, "I told you to leave."

The blond scowled, "Not gonna."

"Please, listen to me for once." His voice gained a deeper sternness, just like the kind that England used when he- Never mind. "You're too important. We can't let you get captured."

"But I want to fight." Ply's frown deepened.

"I know you do, but that doesn't matter now. Hancock and Adams have already gotten to safety and you should too. Heaven knows that you're even more important to us than they are."

"So?" Ply tried to look even more stubborn, but his lower lip ended up jutting out a little bit, turning the scowl into a totally unmanly pout. As soon as the colony realized this, he relaxed his face. He couldn't let Parker think he was a child, dammit! "I-I mean, it's not like they can hurt my people by capturing me."

Parker shook his head, "Maybe not physically, no, but your men _will _be hurt. They'll feel as though they've let you down, as though they were willing to give their everything for nothing. Every one of us, every single soul that is in this bar today, is here because they love you and they want to protect you. Now please, Massachusetts, go and wait out the battle somewhere safe."

Who the hell did he think he was? Talking down to Ply like he was some kid. He wasn't! His voice had broken like ten years ago! But, then again, maybe the problem was that he would try to point out how stupid everything everyone was saying was. Everyone said adults didn't do that. Because, apparently, being mature means not saying anything that wasn't utter bullshit.

So Ply swallowed his totally true remark about how Parker was a big fat meanie who didn't want to share the fun of kicking some pale English ass and just smirked, "So you're sure there's going to be a battle now? I thought I heard you say that you weren't gonna start anything and were just here to keep the redcoats from burning this town to the ground on their way to Concord."

The captain smiled back, "There was _always _going to be a battle. That's how the Europeans work; whenever they see any opposition at all they only think to crush it. I just didn't tell the boys that. Didn't want them too excited. Bad things start happening when you let your soldiers stop thinking."

Ply snorted, "Trust me, I know." He looked out the window, "Damn, they're getting close. Look at 'em all." He wasn't afraid nope. Nope. Not at all.

Although the blond had to admit that they were an impressive sight, approaching from the southeast put the sun almost at their backs. It made their weapons look the same gaudy hue as their uniforms. Ply's eyes were almost instinctively drawn to the farer-haired soldiers. He almost snorted: they all looked like redheads as the light passed through their hair. However, none of those men had that distinctive walk, one that appeared to be a straight militant step but that upon closer inspection hid just a little bit of a unique sway of the hips.

"England's not with them," Ply said.

"I suppose that's for the best," Parker replied, "Fewer of us will die then."

A young man, barely Ply's physical age, approached, "They're getting close." His voice was half terror, half unbridled excitement, "When do we move out?"

"Momentarily," The captain said, "Tell the troops to ready themselves."

The boy nodded and went back to the rest of the militia.

"And so it begins," Parker said, "Massachusetts, go out through the back door, just in case they _do _manage to burn this place to the ground."

"But I-" For once, Ply had an actual adult-esque response, something along the lines of "I'll be fine! Bullets don't hurt me too bad, and some of these boys are younger than I am," but he was cut off.

"Don't worry, you'll have your chance. I'm sure that if this war continues, which it will, we'll need you to save all of your strength for the real battles."

"But-"

"Just go!" The captain exclaimed, although it obviously hurt the man to be loud enough to speak over Ply. He pulled a pistol from his pocket, "And take this with you. I heard you didn't have one of your own. You'll need it to protect yourself if any of the lobsterbacks find you. It'll be more useful than that rifle of yours in close combat. It's already loaded."

The colony glared at his captain for a moment, but then he reached out and snatched the gun away. As Ply stomped out the back door, he heard footsteps as the other soldiers left through the front.

You know, the way that men with honor were supposed to leave.

~O~O~O~

England was _not _in a good mood. Of course, he rarely was anymore. Not when everywhere he turned he heard nothing but the trouble brewing in the colonies, something that he was already all too aware of. At first, it had just been Massachusetts. The empire had always known that one would have a rebellious phase as a teenager. After all, the boy had always been so strong, so self-assured, s loud, and so prone to tantrums. He had expected the boycotts; he had expected the harsh editorials and other anti-British propaganda; he hadn't _quite _expected the tea party, but he hadn't found it too surprising, and it was especially obvious in hindsight. But this, _this _was unacceptable. The boy was stockpiling weapons. He was raising an army. And what's worse was that his rebellious fever was spreading. The only one of his wards that England could be sure was still unaffected was _Canada, _which he found somewhat funny as the two looked so similar_. _Although England supposed that it was good he still had one good brother, something had to be done about all the others.

The Blond had thought for a long, long time about what could be done about the Americans. Punishment wouldn't work, that was for sure. After all, the last time he had tried that, it just made the worst of the colonies look like a martyr; as though Massachusetts only did deeds that the others were too afraid to do and was being punished for it by the big bad empire. Of course that was the way it would go, and England had been a fool not to know that beforehand. After all, people had always loved stories about misunderstood heroes being manipulated and wronged by authorities until they became the authority themselves. He had heard it over and over for over a thousand years. It was only natural that the Americans would jump to that conclusion. Of course, he had hoped his own family wouldn't be quite so dense…

But apparently they were, so there was only one quick solution: he would have to talk to Massachusetts. Given, the boy wasn't too well-known for his rationality for a _very _good reason. However, England knew that he was very bright beneath that idiotic façade that he perpetually wore. He would see, the Briton believed, that the only way to go was to go back to being the faithful little brother than he had been for well over a century. Maybe England would even be kind enough to give in to some of his demands.

…Maybe.

It was at that point that the militia came out of the pub. England almost snorted at the meager show. There were less than a hundred of them and they were about as certain as a fawn taking its first steps. How could they _dream _of defeating his men? England would be able to watch the entire battle from here. He wouldn't have to lift a finger to bring his men to victory.

At the time, he was standing atop a nearby hill so that his men would have a secret weapon in case the so-called "minutemen" actually put up a decent fight. But also, he wanted a good view of the battle. He had to see if he could find that familiar blob of gold or flash of blue, or maybe even hear his colony's grating voice among the pathetic excuse for a militia. If he was there, the older blond would certainly notice his ward's annoying voice. And it _had _become annoying, at least when the boy was excited about something. There was no way that he would take this seriously either, so England would _have _to hear it. After all, it was certainly just some _game _to Massachusetts. He would be blabbering away down there with high-pitched words coming from his mouth a million syllables a minute. Maybe once his colony came back, England would teach him to speak properly. He could make the boy at least use proper pacing, if not drop his ridiculous accent all together.

"Idiot."

England jumped. He had, of course, been thinking the same exact word, but he was not the one who said it. He almost panicked, fearing exposure, but then remembered that he had rendered himself invisible. As long as whoever it was didn't _bump into him _the Briton would be fine. Hopefully.

To be honest, he barely used his magic these days, preferring to use his strength and cunning instead. But still, his family was the best at magic in the world and he had regularly trumped his siblings just two hundred years ago. He still had to be a competent wizard. One does not forget magic that quickly.

And apparently he was right, because whoever had said the word continued on, "Bastard thinks that just because he's in charge of the militia he can tell me not to fight. Me! I was kicking ass when his grandpa was still in diapers!"

"_No way," _England thought, as he finally recognized the voice, _"There's just no way."_

But there trudging up the hill was none other than the empire's quarry. Even as Massachusetts made it to the top of the hill, he continued ranting. However, it wasn't the high annoying voice England anticipated but the real one, those slightly mellower and much lower tones that England actually didn't mind hearing.

Good, the boy could still do _something _right.

The elder nation waited until the younger had plopped down on the grass and started pouting at the men below to remove his concealment charm.

"Ah, Massachusetts, I'm glad you're here." He said.

The colony started. He shakily looked over his shoulder, as though to make sure that the speaker was who he thought it was. Once he saw that it was in fact England who had greeted him, he scrambled to his feet. The boy then did something that his mentor neither predicted nor appreciated: he pulled out a pistol and cocked it.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, lifting his arm.

"Now, Massachusetts," England said, now staring down the barrel of his colony's weapon, "Put that thing down. You could hurt someone."

"_Smooth move." _He thought, _"Patronizing him is a bloody great way to start a diplomatic talk, England." _

"I know what a damn gun is!" Massachusetts exclaimed, "You didn't raise me to be that stupid! Now, answer my question. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be down there with _them?" _He gestured with a shoulder to the soldiers below.

"I could ask the same of you." The boy's cheeks flushed at this. Now that was interesting. England wanted to push further, but decided against it as there was a gun pointed straight at his heart, "But I may as well answer you. I have come to speak to you."

"What do you mean?" Massachusetts demanded.

"Oh, come now, I didn't sail all the way across the pond to fight one little skirmish. I came to negotiate."

"Ha." The younger blond said, "As if the hero would ever negotiate with the evil king."

England almost smirked. Had he been right, or had he been right? However, he still had diplomacy to think of. "Is that really how you see me, Massachusetts?" He asked.

"It's not how I see you, England, it's who you _are._ We all agree on that here."

"Oh really?" England's better judgment apparently decided to cease functioning for a moment in favor of allowing him his favorite pastime: antagonizing those he ought not, "Because that's not what I remember Rhode Island saying. Or Georgia. Or North Carolina, or-"

"Well maybe I'm the only one brave enough to say it to your face!"

"Ah, so no matter how many of your siblings speak against what you say your word is the only one that matters? Who is the tyrant, then, and who the liberator? I have the feeling you may have our roles reversed."

"No I don't!"

Given, it was probably not wise for England to open his mouth again, especially when Massachusetts' finger was still on the trigger, but what else could he do? Just let the boy go unopposed? No, he had done that enough. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't been "mortally wounded" or even "killed" before.

"Of course not."

"England, don't test me." His voice was attempting to be low and dangerous, but it cracked half way through. He was, after all, still a boy.

The Briton smirked, "Alright, alright. But we could stop this here, you know, before anyone gets hurt. Call your men back. Help me destroy the war supplies they've accumulated. Turn the propaganda machines around and have them speak only good of me and not the lies that they've been telling for the past decade."

"Lies?"

Oh, what fun, the boy's voice was shaking. England continued as though he hadn't heard him.

"If you do all of that, I will take you back with open arms. Come, my brother, and stop acting like a child who didn't get a sweet. You could be my favorite again, you know, so easily. Just stop this. Stop this and come back to me."

He actually smiled at this. A real smile, mind you, not the face one that England would paint upon his face when finalizing the most recent treaty with France. He meant it this time. His Massachusetts would be back and everything would be just like it was before. He was sure of-

"You don't understand," the colony said, lowering his hands to his sides and shaking his head. "You never understood this before, and you _still _don't. We can't go back, England. We can never go back."

What happened next England can only recall one little piece at a time: a simple sequence that changed his world forever.

There were the tiniest of tears welling up in the blond's eyes. His hands fisted, as they always did when he was about to cry. England gasped, realizing what had happened. He jumped forward to stop Massachusetts. Before he could even move, the flint swung forward. There was a loud bang as the bullet flew into the ground. At the sound of the shot, Hell began in front of the tavern.

To this day, England still doesn't know if the boy meant to pull the trigger or not.

July 4, 1776: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Ply really, really wanted to wiggle. Anticipation had never been a kind mistress to him. What was the point of waiting? If you wanted something done, you go do it. You don't just sit around and wait for other people to do it for you. That way, even if it doesn't really _happen _faster it sure feels better.

Virginia was right all those times when he said his brother could never be wealthy.

Of course, the older colony wasn't doing too well either right now. He was sitting on his chair stiffly enough to be wearing a corset, checking his pocket watch every two seconds and then staring expectantly up at the huge wooden doors that separated the thirteen colonies from their delegates. If even Virginia wasn't handling the pressure well, no one would. Come on, this was the guy who had spent the entire battle of Bunker Hill talking to Ply about how his favorite horse had birthed a foal in march. Yes, even the part where they were retreating. During the fight it was totally uncool, but thinking back on it now almost made Ply laugh.

He knew that his siblings would be mad if he killed the mood that way, though, so he just shut up. He was still sore from Three Rivers and he didn't need to fight his family as well as his ex-brothers.

Plural because Canada was definitely out now. The long-haired bastard still clung to England like a burr to a rat. Hell, _he _had been the one who beat Ply into unconsciousness with his own musket less than a month ago.

He was pretty sure he had a pretty bad concussion now, as he told his family the previous night.

Carol told him to shut up about it, since he was trying to regrow an arm England blew off at Fort Moultrie last week. He brandished the stump, already back to below the elbow, for effect.

Ply told him that brains were more important than arms and a lot harder to fix.

Carol said it was a shame he didn't have any, then.

Ply then articulately told him that if he didn't shut up, he'd tear off his other arm and give _him _a concussion with it.

Mary then stood up and softly begged them to be nice to each other or, her voice dropped about an octave and became rougher than shark skin, she would make it seem like neither of them had so much as gotten a paper cut in either war.

Good times.

So, yeah, back to staring at a plain wood door as fifty old men decided his and his siblings' destinies.

Ply mentioned that he hating waiting already, right?

Yeah, he did.

…But he _really _hated waiting.

Eventually, the door did swing open. Ben Franklin, old as he was, was the first out of the room. Every single colony held their breath, waiting to see if they would still address each other as such at the end of the day. Hopefully it wouldn't be another false alarm, like the past three days had been.

"It's over," The old man said, "You no longer belong to anyone but yourselves."

The now-states gave a cheer. Ply and Pennsylvania both bounded over and wrapped their arms around Mr. Franklin.

"Careful now," He said, cheerfully, "I'm now as young as I used to be."

Virginia cleared his throat. He was blushing slightly and tugged gently on his ponytail, "Erm, we out to… um…"

"That's right!" Ply said, "You finished our letter, right?"

"Y-yes," his brother replied, "Although I'm not so sure it'll be good enough. I've never done anything like this before."

"None of us have," North Carolina said softly, tucking a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear, "But I'm sure it's wonderful."

"W-Well here."

He pulled a tube out from under his chair and then slid a roll of parchment from it. As Virginia placed it on the table and unfurled it, Ply noticed that there were two copies: one for them to keep and another for them to send to England. At the top was clearly written, "The Willful Charter of Freedom of the Thirteen United States of America." He bent down to read the rest of Virginia's flowing words.

"We Nations exist for one reason and one reason only: to act upon the wills of our people for as long as God keeps them upon the earth. We act as their Avatars; one voice to represent millions. As such, when there is a period in which one's people choose to take drastic action it is a Nation's duty to stand with them no matter their personal consequences. As such, we are given Rights which allow us to fulfill the wants and needs of our people.

"The people of each of The United States have chosen to separate from The Kingdom of Great Britain and we, as The States, are henceforth required to separate as well.

"However, we do this not with heavy hearts for he has in many ways bereft us of our rights as Nations. Just as our Congress has produced a list of Grievances for the King of Great Britain, we, too, have created such a list for The Kingdom of Great Britain himself.

"He has refused us a voice in Parliament.

"He has allowed his King to remove all power from the Locally Elected Legislatures without any opposition.

"He has refused us the ability to contact any foreign nation, even those that he is allied to.

"He has attempted to coerce us to resist the will of our respective peoples.

"He has repeatedly refused to acknowledge us as grown Nations, capable of handling many of our own affairs.

"He has ignored all attempts at Compromise

"He has forced our people to depart from his rule

"At every turn, we have voiced our concerns and submitted solutions. However, the Kingdom of Great Britain has consistently ignored our movements. Anything more difficult to ignore than mere words has been met with nothing but cruel punishment.

"We, as Nations can no longer stand by a man that constantly oppresses our people and who will not bend to compromise. Therefore we, the Thirteen United States of America, approve of our Congress's decision and are henceforth Independent Sovereign Nations."

"It's quite similar to our own Declaration." Mr. Franklin mused.

"Well Tom helped me on it. I-I mean I came up with most of it on my own, but I used his as a model. So…" His blush deepened, "D-Do you guys like it?"

"It's perfect," Ply said, "Absolutely perfect." There were murmurs of assent from the other states.

The eldest brother smiled and pulled from the tube a pen and inkwell, "Erm, if you like it so much, why don't you have the first go?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes," He cleared his throat, apparently content now that he knew his siblings approved, "It'll have a bigger effect on England if your name's first too."

"Awesome!" Massachusetts grabbed for the items in his brother's hand.

He placed them on the desk and slowly opened the ink. Okay, now that he was writing his name he had to be careful. England needed to see how _mature _and _in control _he was now that he was his own country and all.

He dipped the pen into the dark liquid. Now came the real question: what to put? One of his human names? Well, they had kinda made it clear that they were addressing England as themselves, so no. Province of Massachusetts Bay? Hell no, never again.

Crap. What was he going to call himself now? He had to think of something.

Well, best to go simple when trying to impress stuffy old England.

He pulled the pen from the ink and in his neatest penmanship wrote, "_State of Massachusetts Bay._"

"Nice," Virginia said, "My turn."

Ply handed him the pen and his brother wrote, with the same flourish as the rest of the document, _"Commonwealth of Virginia." _

"Oh dammit," Ply said, "That sounds so much cooler! I wanna change my name now."

"You'll have your chance," Virginia said, "You don't have a constitution yet, right?"

"Well, I was getting around to it, I swear-"

Pennsylvania laughed, "Hey, since you're in my house, you should let me go next!"

"Hey," Said New Hampshire, "I'm the next oldest, so I should go!"

Various other co- states began to bicker, but it was light and friendly. There'd be no roughhousing tonight.

And, for once, Ply was glad for that.

Four-thousand miles away in London, during an oddly cold night for July, England awoke feeling as though his heart had been torn from his chest.

~O~O~O~

**Historical notes: **

**William Dawes:** Everyone remembers Paul Revere, but he didn't actually make it to give the rebels news. William Dawes was the one who actually completed the ride. But does he get any credit? No. Because his name doesn't make for a good poem (which you have to admit is kinda true).

**Captain John Parker: **Led the militia of (as Ply says) 8o men in the "Battle" of Lexington (more on that later). He was a French and Indian War vet with Tuberculosis (he would die of it in September of 1775. This battle was his only role in the Revolution), which made it hard to hear him most of the time. What was really annoying is that there are no likenesses of him anymore, so I couldn't describe anything but his voice, or lack thereof. Fun facts: If you want to see his musket, it's on display in the senate chamber of the Massachusetts state house (if they let you in, I don't know).

**England Turning Invisible:** No, he can't do this in canon as far as I know, but I figured that it was either this or have him climb a tree. That would just be silly, right Flying Mint Bunny? (Also, that's probably why he's such a good spy: He can just be invisible and then it's hard for them to find him.)

**The Promised More on Lexington: **It was indeed fought in front of a bar (Buckman Tavern, to be precise. It's also still there). The Americans were quite outnumbered and easily defeated, but after the British reached Concord, they turned it around and ended up winning. This shocked everybody. Also, there were up to 100 people watching. However, England didn't want to get too close in case Ply was there, so he went onto the hill. Ply went there so he didn't get hit by a stray bullet. Also, interesting fact: The so-called "Shot Heard Round the World" didn't come from either line of soldiers. Most sources say that it was either a colonist hiding in the bushes or a British officer on a horse. I say it came from an Anime character invented in the 2000's. I am obviously right.

**Bunker Hill:** Actually happened on Breed's hill. Oops. (That might be part of why the colonists lost, but it was more because they ran out of cannon before the Brits ran out of cannon fodder)

**Three-Rivers: **Another Yankee loss. We tried to take Three-Rivers, Quebec. It… Erm… didn't work.

**Fort Moultrie:** Decisive victory in South Carolina for the Colonists. What's more, we beat Britain's _navy. _You know, the one that was virtually _unstoppable _the entire 18th and 19th. Given, there were only nine ships, but the fort _wasn't even done. _Sorry, I just think that's kinda cool…

**Ben Franklin: **Before anything else: A total badass. This man was a genius. He was well-known and widely respected. He was the oldest man at the signing of the Declaration of Independence at 70 years of age. He was born in Massachusetts but lived in Pennsylvania most of his adult life which is why those two are the ones who hug him.

"**The past three days." **July 1st through 4th there were numerous revisions to the Declaration of Independence. And a lot of bickering.

**Thomas Jefferson: **Another total badass. Tied as my favorite president with Lincoln and the two Roosevelts. Hopefully I'll have him in a scene somewhere after the war. We'll see what I can make a plot point out of. Anyway, the man was a very eloquent writer, plantation owner and Virginian. That's why Virginia was the one to write "The Willful Charter of Freedom of the Thirteen United States of America." (I really tried to base it off of the Declaration of Independence, but I don't think I did it well. But, then again, Virginia is rather shy of his writing so he's probably kind of new at writing like that. He usually just does Romance Novels. More on that at a later date)

"**His own country":** Ever wonder about that name, "United States?" Initially, each colony was going to become its own country (State) held together in a loose confederation. "The United States of America" was never intended to be an official term. It was a phrase that Jefferson used to describe the union between what was to be the thirteen sovereign countries. However, it kinda stuck…

**Commonwealth of Virginia:** There are four states that refer to themselves officially as "Commonwealths" in modern-day America: Virginia, Pennsylvania, Kentucky, and Massachusetts. However, the last one didn't adopt the term until after the state constitution was written in 1780, until that point it was indeed "The State of Massachusetts Bay." At that time, 'commonwealth' meant that the government was based upon the common consent of the people, which was _totally _different from what England had. Really (Fun fact: There was once a "Commonwealth of England." Basically, Britain was a regular republic from 1649 to 1660 between the English Civil war and when Charles II came back. England remembers most of the 1650's as drinking with Scotland and Ireland because they didn't all want to kill each other for once. What this really means is that he doesn't remember much of it other than entering pubs with them and waking up with painful headaches in various states of undress.)

**Four-Thousand Miles away: **(actually, it's 3917 according to google) Not much of a note, but did you know that google maps doesn't have you swim across the Atlantic Ocean anymore? It makes me cry…

**A/N: **Guess who had _way _too much fun writing America? Go on, guess! I feel like I'm finally starting to get his personality down so that I can play a little more, which is good since he's never going to be far out of the limelight.

Anyway, I have some bad (?) news: No update next week. I am going to be _waaaay _too busy. There's pretty much no way that I'm even going to get my actual homework done. Sorry, to the few of you who actually read this D: I know, it'll just tear you up not to know who will win the American Revolution.

See you two weeks from now!


	4. Vive Le Revolution! part 2

**A/N: **Yes, this is late. I know. I'm sorry to all two of you who read this on a regular basis, I really am. However, both my Saturday and Sunday were nommed by Mock Trial.

So, this week was fun with translations (and accents, and drunk speech) time! As this is written in third-person limited, I decided to try something fun. Instead of just copy-pasta-ing out of google translate, I used the speak-function (the French I just read for myself, as I have been speaking French for quite a few years now) and tried to write what the words sounded like to America. I figured that anyone who could speak the language would get it if they read it aloud and anyone who can't would have just read babble if I had put the google-correct words in anyway. Translations will of course be provided where I put all of my history notes. If you think this is stupid, just let me know and I will fix the translations here and never try it again. Also, we finally get to really hear from Virginia! I thought I'd better give him some screen time, since he, you know, ends up being in charge of his own country in 80 years.

Thought of the day: Why do so many significant events in American history happen in France?

**Warnings: **OC!States, Swearing (wow, that's seriously it. Damn)

~O~O~O~

February 6, 1778: Paris, France

"Hurry up, Ply!" Louis said, tugging on his elder brother's cloak, "I wanna see France!"

"What, you're worried about me not being fast enough?" Ply teased, "I think you're sick. I'll just have to take you back to the hotel and tell France you couldn't come."

The boy gave the blond a look half way between a pout and a grimace, "Don't joke like that."

Ply grinned but said nothing.

The two of them walked in silence though the streets of Paris for quite some time. The only things that broke the silence were Louis's occasional giggles of excitement, which he would immediately brush off as a slight cough, and the general hubbub of the crowd that parted for them like mud for a plow.

"Hey, Louis?" Ply asked after a while.

"Yeah?"

"How long 'til we get there?"

"Ain'chu supposed to be the grown up?"

Ply blushed and covered it with a humph, "Well, it's not as if I understood that guy who gave us directions. French just sounds like a bunch of mushed up syllables to me."

"Yeah, well yer English sounds like a chatterin' mouse t'me."

"Oh, shut up."

"Fine."

After a moment, brown eyes flicked up to catch blue ones.

"What is it?" Ply asked.

"'S just 'round the next corner."

"Oh. Thanks."

Ply's gratefulness was far deeper than what he expressed to his younger brother. Even though he refused to let Louis know, he was really freakin' cold right then.

Okay, that was stupid to say. He was _always _really frickin' cold those days. Even though he had managed to get out of Pennsylvania, it seemed as though the chill had seeped somewhere deep inside of him and wouldn't leave. It must have been all of his boys still in that awful place (Prussia had said he would provide them with "Super amazing care from the awesome me!" while Ply was off trying to convince France to send some of his guys over, but to be honest he was kind of afraid of what that meant for them. They didn't even have adequate clothing for Christ's sake). At least some of them had their wives now. 500 women where back in Valley Forge with the troops. True, most of them were just there so that England didn't hurt them, but what did it matter? They were so gentile, so nice, so… accommodating to his and his siblings' men.

Not that they were any help for Ply himself, though. Not with the damned cold everywhere. It flooded his lungs, his belly, his arms and legs, and damn near every other body part the young state had. Everywhere but his heart, that is. _That _was still on fire. Ply didn't know if it was hot with loathing for England, love for his people, protective feelings for his younger siblings, or possibly the desire that was burning deep in his soul for… something. He still didn't know what that something was. To kick England's ass? Well, he sure wanted that, but that wasn't it…

Oh well. It was too damn cold to worry about that kind of shit anyway.

Maybe it was just cold _everywhere _this winter, and not just in Pennsylvania. He wanted to pull his cloak more tightly around himself, but he still refused to look weak in front of Louis. It was his job to look out for the boy. After all, Ply was the second oldest, and Virginia had grown to look too much like England to be able to talk with France without bringing up centuries-old tensions. Also, England and France had fought over Ply once, right? To be honest, he couldn't really remember, but England had told him stories. The other states had hoped that seeing France's almost-younger-brother come pleading for help would make him want to be helpful for once.

Honestly, no one had any idea why the idiot was being more stubborn. France _hated _England. The two had spent hundreds of years jumping on any chance to go to war with each other. Hell, either of them would get their guns if the wind so much as blew the wrong way. There was even a small island in the West Indies that was devoted to the two of them beating the crap out of each other.

That was what Ply had heard anyway. He hadn't actually been involved in any of the Europeans' squabbles except for the last one, but he had heard the countries that he sometimes talked to behind England's back (and occasionally even the empire himself) talk about the bitterness and intensity of the fights. And yet, now when the Americas needed him, France was just like, "Nope, we're trying something new over here. It's called not-openly-allying-with-people-who-will-obviously-lose."

Well, that wasn't an exact quite since France always used big words and that outrageous accent. Still, the message was the same

Hopefully, though, this time things would be different. After all, now they were winning. Well they had won a battle. It was a big one, though. Ply was kind of sad that he hadn't gotten to fight it on his own turf, but he was still damn proud of his brother.

When the British held Boston, Ply felt sick _all the time. _He could barely get out of bed some days. New York, on the other hand, had it in him to lead a charge down a hill at England's division all while screaming something that sounded like "Dee grotsakkin! Ick cramack ravin shrenrogavins stodakken ent todats de moaned!" while England had his biggest city. Ply didn't know what he said, but it sounded _bad ass._

However, even without New York being absolutely terrifying, they still would have won. After all, England never had more than 7200 guys when they always had over 9000 troops.

Still, the New Englander was nervous. They were banking everything on this. They had turned down a deal with England to end the war in January. If they were going to win, they needed allies in Europe so that England would have to take some of the pressure off.

And, of course, everyone had put it on Ply; the idiot who could barely read the atmosphere, was notorious for impulsiveness, and knew like three words in French. The more he thought about this, the worse of idea it seemed. But, you know, that's what happened with most of his ideas. Maybe it was better to just go along with it and hope to God that Louis was still fluent in French. If only there was someone else in North America that spoke the damn language!

But it was too late to turn back now. They were at the Hotel. Ply smiled reassuringly down at his little brother and opened the door.

"Mayp teet frair!" France exclaimed as the pair entered the hotel. He had been waiting for them just inside the door.

Ply just stopped and looked at the European, clueless as to what he had said. Louis, on the other hand, understood and greeted France just as ecstatically.

"France!" He replied, running to him and wrapping his arms around his waist, "Jeh voo savays mawnk!"

"Jeh teh mawnk oh see." France replied, putting one hand in the boy's brown hair, "Common ta aytay suesis two traytay?"

Louis wrinkled his nose, "Kuh pawn say voo?"

France laughed, "We, we."

Or wait, wouldn't that have been "oui?" Well, France agreeing with Louis was a good thing, right? Right.

"Ah!" The boy said, "May lay sotruh coloney sont simpu."

"Mmm. Sest beeyon."

Ply looked around the hall, wondering when the two would be done babbling to each other in French. At least he had something pretty to look at. With a jolt, he realized that it was the same hotel that he and England had stayed in before. When things were… different.

"Oh, Amarique" France said suddenly.

Ply looked at the older man, recognizing his name for him.

"Poor kwah nuh tay pah mehsulwa?"

"What?"

France looked hurt, but Louis tugged on his sleeve.

"France," The boy said softly, "Eel ne parl pah fransay."

The long-haired nation sighed and switched to the Nation's language. "Right, eyebrows stole you from me before I could teach you my beautiful language."

"Yeah," Ply said, "I guess he did." He thought that maybe he should leave out the part about how he thought French sounded like England after about ten drinks.

"Well," France said, smiling, "I shall have to teach it to you as part of our new and improved alliance, no?"

Ply laughed, "It might be a good idea."

"Speaking of that," France said, "I do not suppose that the return of this delightful boy," He lifted Louis into his arms, "or his sister will be part of that agreement."

"No," Ply said, "Sorry."

"Where is Ana anyway?" France asked.

"Oh crap!" Ply said, "I forgot all about her!"

"Don't worry," Louis said helpfully, "She's with Canada."

"She's with who?" Ply demanded.

"You forgot him again?" France asked, "Remember, Canada is your older brother; the one with hair almost as beautiful and luscious as mine?" He ran the hand that wasn't supporting Louis through his far-too-long locks.

"No!" Ply said, "I mean yes! I mean-"

France smirked and Ply scowled in response.

"I know who Canada is," He said, "I'm asking why the hell Ana is with him!"

Louis muttered something to France, most likely asking him to put him down because in a moment the boy's feet were again on the floor. "Well," He said, walking closer to Ply, "Virginia kept forgettin' about her, so one day she just up an' ran off. Canada found her and they bonded over their mutual ability t'be forgotten, French heritage, and right terrifyin' passion fer sports. We didn't notice for a few months an' by then the two of 'em were real close, so we thought we'd let her stay since she'd picked up his accent an' all."

"You just let the enemy have her?" Ply demanded.

Louis looked at his feet, "Well, we were still real hopeful that Canada'd come an' revolt with us, so we didn't think nuthin of it."

"America," France said, with a sudden sternness in his typically lilting voice, "We will get her back."

"Really?" Ply asked.

"Yes. Any land England gives you after this war is yours."

"That's-" Ply was going to say great, but he had an epiphany, "-Not very like you, France."

"I know," He smiled sadly, "But it would be hard, far too hard to try to take them back."

"Huh?"

"Maybe you will understand someday. Until then," He turned and started to walk away, "Follow me and we shall discuss the details of this treaty." He then began to mutter to himself.

Ply walked briskly, grabbing Louis in the way, to catch up to the Frenchman.

Once he got closer, he heard the man say "Too lay twah duh may frayr et ma soor on desparu ah jamay. Kah too fay pourer, Angleh tare? Kah too fay poor mwa?"

Ply was about to ask France to speak English or the nations' language again, but then he heard a sniffle. Louis's chocolate eyes were overflowing with tears, but the poor boy was working so hard not to cry. For once in his life, Ply acted upon the atmosphere.

France would have his moment.

March 1, 1781: Baltimore, Maryland

"So you two promise," Maryland said, her green eyes flashing between New York and Virginia, "That when we get Ana back, she lives with me?"

Virginia almost rolled his eyes. However, he was raised a gentleman and had to control himself. The fact that he wasn't British anymore meant nothing. After all, the new Confederacy would need some people with class too, and honestly he didn't really trust anyone else but Georgia to fulfill the requirement.

"Yes, Maryland," He replied "As I have said before, I relinquish all claims that I have had to the Ohio river valley."

"I do too," Said New York.

"Alright then," Massachusetts cut in. As usual, "Let's do this thing!" He smacked his open palm down against the document

Virginia sighed, "We're going to finalize our new government after three years of back and forth, and all you can say is 'let's do this thing'?"

"Hey, don't I have the right to be excited after that long? I agreed to this thing ages ago."

"I did it even before you did, Massachusetts, and I am able to retain my composure."

"Yeah, well maybe that's just because England managed to ram a stick higher up your ass than the one someone stuffed in his." He grinned as though he had told the most clever joke in the world, "Now let's get on with this."

"Still, though," Virginia said, "This is a historic moment. We must not spoil this for future generations."

"Dude," Massachusetts replied, shaking his head, "We're _nations. _I'm pretty sure that the dog crap I stepped in last week is historical now."

The elder blond swallowed. He was not going to dignify that with a response. No, he was _not. _It didn't matter how good it would feel. "Well then," He eventually said, "Shall we read this? One article for each of us, right?"

"Right," Pennsylvania said, "Kind of funny. We didn't even plan it that way."

"Delaware," Virginia said, "Why don't you start? You were the first one to fly the flag, right?"

"Yeah, but you approved this thing first."

"But I-"

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the states. And Louis, who wanted to be there even though he wasn't old enough to sign yet.

"Alright," He felt himself blush, "If you're all so set on this." He cleared his throat. "The stile of this confederacy will be the United States of America."

South Carolina reached out to take it and Virginia gave it to him without a fight. "Each state will keep every power not explicitly given to congress in this document."

"That's not what it says," Virginia said, scowling. He added mentally, _"I spent a long time writing this, at least read it properly!" _

"Well, I made it so that it's understandable," South Carolina said, "Some of us work all day and don't have time to think through all of those big words. Sis," He handed the paper to North Carolina without giving Virginia time to respond, "You're up next."

And so it went. Each state took a turn reading from the parchment until it ended up in Massachusetts' hands. Of course the idiot would make sure he had the last word.

"And finally," he said, "The Articles of Confederation are to be followed in every state until and unless Congress changes them and each state approves the changes. F-"

"Alright then!" Virginia exclaimed, keeping his brother by ruining the moment by adding "Fuck Yeah!" to the end, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Massachusetts and South Carolina-" ("Hey, don't lump me with him!" They both cried at the same time) "-Let us officially ratify these Articles."

He signed his name with a flourish and then passed the pen to his right, not really worried about who took it. He was too focused on the still-wet ink of his own signature, quickly being joined by others.

"_And so," _He thought, _"No longer are we thirteen children who ran away from home, but thirteen men and women who now have their own mansions." _

He looked up from the parchment to see a pair of sky-blue eyes staring into his forest green ones. He sighed internally. What was it this time?

"Yes, Massachusetts?"

"Let's go outside."

"What?"

"I need some air."

"Well you can go by yourself, can't you?"

"I could," A small smile crept across his mouth.

"Oh, alright."

Virginia rolled his eyes and followed his younger brother out onto Maryland's balcony. Massachusetts set his elbows on the railing and propped his head on his hand, looking out at the sky. Virginia, part out of principle and part out of personal tastes, faced the other way, looking back into the large parlor where the other twelve where. For a long time it was just the two brothers and the cool night air.

It wasn't unpleasant. The breeze was soft and comforting and the air was just brisk enough to make one feel alive. It was quiet except for the states' breathing. Virginia would have been quite comfortable where Massachusetts not standing next to him and acting in a way that was very unusual for him.

"It's weird;" The younger state said finally, "I always thought that when this day would come, I'd feel different. But I don't. I'm still just me. It was the same when we signed the Declaration," He paused, "Dear God, that was almost five years ago, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Virginia said.

Massachusetts angled his head to look up at him, "Yes to the feeling different bit, or yes to the five years ago bit?"

Virginia smiled, "Both."

"You think it's too much to hope for that things will change once we beat England?"

"You're so sure that'll happen." Not a question, a statement. There was no point in asking that. his brother always felt sure of _everything. _

"Well, how can it not? We've got the moral high ground, France is fighting with us, our army's starting to kick some serious redcoat ass, and England's guys just want to go home." He smiled softly, "It's gonna happen. We're gonna be free."

Virginia sighed and turned and adopted the same position as Massachusetts, "It won't be that easy. They're preparing for a battle. It's going be huge. I can feel it coming. And…" He took a deep breath, "I'm afraid of how it'll turn out."

"Don't be. We can handle it."

"How do you know?"

"Because," He said, his smile becoming more intense and yet not changing into his trademark grin, "We're America."

Time passed, both men stared over the trees past the end of their sister's farm and into the stars above. At first it was seconds, and Virginia was sure Massachusetts would say something. Then it changed to minutes, and still nothing happened. Somehow, after a while, the soft March breeze took the awkwardness and anxiousness from Virginia. It wasn't for a few hours that either man moved other than to shift position a little bit. Eventually, Virginia had had enough of standing outside and went inside to his nice, soft bed.

It wasn't until he was half-asleep that he realized that he had never answered Massachusetts's question as to if winning would change things.

It wasn't until the next morning he realized his brother already knew the answer.

September 3, 1783: Paris, France

Ply stretched as he walked into his room. It had been one hell of a long day. Good, but long. He had gotten everything he really wanted. Yeah, he was supposed to have to pay the loyalists and merchants back, but whatever. Like Hell England was gonna leave _his _stuff alone anyway. But they had fishing rights off of Canada (but not Canada himself, which was a shame. Oh well, if he ever decided he was done being England's doormat, there was a nice home for him), and Ana and Louis were staying with them. And, most importantly, England finally said that they were a real country. Ply was right, as always. They had won. They were free.

He should have been happy. He _really _should have been. But he wasn't. And he had no idea why. There was still something missing. And more than that, he was faced with a painful question.

Now what?

Well, now bed, for one thing.

He sat on the bed and started to undress.

All he had wanted for so long was freedom and for England to acknowledge him. Well, he had it now. They all did. Ply supposed that they could all just go back to their respective states and pick up the pieces before resuming life as usual, but that just didn't feel like enough. Hell, Ply wasn't even sure that it was possible with eight long years of war just barely behind them.

He wanted someone to talk to; someone who had been through being their own country. He wanted guidance. But who to talk to? England had always been his go-to-guy, but that was out just like it had been for the past decade.

France? He'd say something perverted that most likely didn't apply to his situation. England- was out already.

Spain? Well, first of all, it would take the guy a month to write up a list of advice, another month to send it across the ocean (Ply couldn't possibly stay in Europe long enough to get the letter in person), and Spain's handwriting would be really messy anyway. And Spanish. Not like those straight words that had covered the letters he used to get every six weeks from-

What-what about The Netherlands? No way, he was too scary. Even New York was afraid of him, and New York was freakishly tough _and _had Netherlands taking care of him as a baby. God, what was that guy like as a big brother? Probably really awful; punishing his kids all the time, and not coming to visit whenever he had the chance, and never singing to them, and not being such a freak and trying to talk to the air in a way that was both really weird and really awesome, and-

Bad Ply, bad.

Prussia would spend all day talking about how awesome he was and never get around to what he actually did. The albino wasn't the type to get a huge blush and start sputtering whenever Ply admitted that he was good at things.

Dammit, even when he was supposedly free, England had to take all of Ply's brain. He needed the thing, in spite of what South Carolina and Virginia said.

He crawled under the blankets and wrapped them around his body, like a caterpillar in a cocoon.

Whatever. Maybe he was just fixated on England because he had spent all day trying to finally cut his ties to the older nation. Maybe in the morning it would be better.

He let his eyes slide closed and slowly drifted off to sleep.

~O~O~O~

Bang, bang, bang.

Ply blinked severally. Was that noise real, or just part of his dream?

There were three more knocks on his door, and the blond realized he hadn't been dreaming.

"I'll be there in a sec." He said.

He threw the blankets off of him and grabbed a pair of trousers from his bag.

There were three more knocks.

"Man, don't get your ruffles in a twist! I said gimmie a second!" He yelled, as he pulled on his rumpled working-class clothing.

"Well hurry it up then!" A familiar voice with a familiar accent called.

Ply had been about to open the door but froze. "England?" He asked.

"You'd bloody well better know who I am! Now lemme in!"

Crap, not only was it England, it was drunk England.

In the past, Ply would have taken the Brit back to his room, gotten him nice and cozy in bed, and have done his best to treat him well until he passed out. But this wasn't the past. He had just gotten his freedom after so long, and then England had the gall to wake him up in the middle of the night and expect Ply to be just as accommodating as he had been as a colony? Fuck that.

"No," Ply said.

"Can't we just treat each other Civo-civ-civilly? I just wanna talk a li'l bit."

"Sure," The state said sarcastically.

"I mean it!"

"Didn't you talk enough at the meeting?"

"'S not what I mean and you know it. Lemme in."

"No."

"Listen, you may not be my sub-subor-colony anymore, but I'm still older than you an' you ought to respect me."

"Well I'm sober and have the key so maybe you ought to respect me."

"Come on, you're acting like a li'l kid."

"I don't care. And," Ply let out a small huff, "I'm going to bed."

"Well I'm not leaving."

"Then stand out in the hall all night."

Without bothering to undress, Ply crawled back under the blankets. After a few moments he heard England's voice again, soft and pleading as a kitten's mew now.

"'Merica, please. I just wanna talk. Please."

He sounded like he was about to burst into tears. Would have served him right to feel a little bit of "salutary neglect" himself. But something in Ply, probably the same thing that made him choose England over France in the first place all those years ago, made him get back out of bed and open the door anyway. England was in awful shape. His blond hair was even more untidy than usual. His coat, cravat, and many of the other articles of clothing he had worn earlier in the day were missing along with one of his shoes. His white shirt was rumpled, stained with what was probably either rum of whisky, and had been pulled down over one shoulder. His eyes were red and puffy, as though he had _already _burst into tears.

"Dear God," Ply said, "How much have you had?"

"I didn't count."

Ply grimaced, "You know I hate it when you get like this."

England smirked, "I _do_ know."

Time passed, and the two nations just stared at each other.

Eventually, Ply opened his mouth again, but before he could say anything, England started crying.

"England-" Ply took a step forward, over a hundred years of history making him move without thinking, but England knocked his arm away.

"God! Why the fuck did I even come here? I should have known you'd just stand an' stare at me. I'm a bloody mess, I know. And you- you're just-"

He stopped talking and stared at the floor.

"I just what?" Ply asked.

"I donno anymore," The Empire stared at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Tears dripped down his cheeks freely in a way they never would have been able to if the man was sober.

For a few minutes, the state had no idea of what to do. Well, actually, he had quite a few ideas. The most logical would have been to slam the door in England's face, but he couldn't do that. He could wrap his arms around England and soothe him until they both passed out, but like _hell _he was doing that. He could just stand there and stare some more, but that would just be stupid.

"Hey," He said finally, "Why don't you come in for a little while? We could do some of that talking you mentioned."

England's eyes flashed up to meet Ply's. His lips quirked into a genuine smile for a moment.

"That- that would be nice."

Ply can't remember what they talked about. Just that it wasn't about the war; it wasn't about taxes; it wasn't about _any _of the pain that they had caused each other in the past ten years. It was almost like they were back to during the French and Indian war, when Ply first got to know the man on a level beyond "That older guy who shows up to take care of me now and then who I really like," on an adult level as he himself grew into adulthood.

But even if the experience was similar, there was something inherently different about that night. It wasn't even the fact that Ply was England's equal now, more or less. There was something even more fundamental than that that had changed and both of them obviously sensed it, even though one was drunk and the other was falling-down tired. However, most likely due to their respective states, neither of them figured it out. Besides, at the time, feeling was better than knowing.

The two of them stayed together that night "Just one last night for old times' sakes," but when Ply awoke England was gone. He couldn't say for certain whether the time with the other nation the past night was real or just a dream. If England could remember the night, he certainly wasn't telling.

~O~O~O~

**Translations: **

**New York:** He is speaking Dutch (Former colony of The Netherlands and all), which is then absolutely butchered by Ply due to artillery fire and general battle noise (not because the google pronunciation sounds weird. No siree). He's saying something along the lines of "Die, you bastards! I'm going to ram my gun so far up your ass that it comes out your mouth!"

**France and Louis' (rather short) conversation: **

"My little brothers!"

"France! I've missed you!"

"I missed you too. How has eyebrows been treating you?"

"What do you think?"

"Right, right."

"Ah! But the other colonies are nice."

"Mmm. That's good. Oh, America, why have you not greeted me?"

"France, he doesn't speak French."

**France's Muttering:** I was actually thinking about writing the French properly for this one, because it makes me cry a little on the inside. "All three of my brothers and my sister are gone forever. What have you done to them, England? What have you done to me?"

**History: **

**Valley Forge: **Where the American army stayed in the winter of 1777-1778. As you've probably had drilled into your heads for as long as you can remember, the conditions were awful. However, they _did _get an extra hit of awesome when Prussian Ex-Officer Barron Von Steuben (Fake noble, alleged homosexual, unable to speak English well, and one of the main reasons that we won the revolution) decided to come over and train the army. He arrived in Valley Forge (From France, actually) on February 23rd, but Prussia himself got there like two months early because he's that awesome. Also, he needed to check out the various states' vital regions. (Hides) Please don't kill me.

**Boston and New York:** Not held at the same time. The British had Boston from April 1775 through March 1776. Eventually, the Americans got it back.

**Saratoga: **Indeed fought in New York. It was September 19 through October 7, 1777. And the estimate of the smallest American number was in fact 9000. I do not do things only for the sake of memes. (Although it does help)

**Older Brother: **In 1605, Port Royal, Canada was founded. Jamestown, Virginia was founded in 1607. Plymouth was founded in 1620. You heard me right, America is Canada's little brother, whether you buy my headcanon or not.

**Articles of Confederation: **The first United States Constitution. It took effect March 1, 1781 when Maryland finally ratified it when New York and Virginia gave up their claims to the Ohio River Valley. It was indeed after three years of bickering. It had 13 articles, including those listed above. One interesting thing about the Articles is that they refused to address America as a country, instead seeing every state as its own nation. Complete with own Hetalia-verse Nation-Tan.

**Delaware and the Flag:** I heard somewhere that Delaware was the first state to fly the American Flag in battle. I'm not sure if this is true or if it had happened by this point, but I thought it was kind of cute.

**Treaty of Paris: **This was the treaty that ended the Revolution between Britain and the US. There were 4 treaties total. There were a bunch of terms, but it basically amounted to the bits that ply describes, with the exception of the Canada bit (that was part of the Articles of Confederation, actually). Thus far, every Article has been broken with the exception of the first, that the United States is a Sovereign Nation. They said that in the Wikipedia article. It made me lol.

**A/N: **Aaand it's finally done! It's late here, especially since I have a 13 hour day tomorrow and at this point will be getting five hours of sleep. But you know what? No point in doing things half way.

Next week: Organizing the new Government and (Possibly) the age of Jefferson!


	5. E Pluribus Unum part 1

**A/N: **I am late again. Sorry. I hate living in the real world where there's drama, but I do enjoy the cons in the real world. In other words, Thursday and Friday I managed to be fighting both of my best friends at the same time and Saturday was Anime Milwaukee. So...

But anyway, here we get to see America starting to make its way as a nation. Yay! Also, we get to see France (hopefully!) being France. I like writing France almost as much as I like writing England, whom I unfortunately didn't get to say goodbye to before he left.

A lot of this chapter is introspective, but I tried to make it as interesting as possible. It's too bad that most of the history in this period is about a couple of things that happened over ages and ages of treaties. At least we also get more South Carolina and America family time.

Warnings: Cursing, OC!States

~O~O~O~

A lot of Americans assumed that after they won the war they would be able to live carefree, tax-free lives on their farms (most Americans were hicks back then, as opposed to now when they usually live in cities and are stuck behind computers all day). Shows what they knew. Taxes became even higher than they had been before, and many people had less protection than they had with England. To make it even worse, a lot of them lost their land and possessions because they couldn't pay their debts.

Biggest problem, though, was the civil unrest. Most of the people losing their stuff were hicks (well, even more than would be proportional anyway) while rich merchants and lawyers were pretty much left alone. Obviously, this meant that most of the small-time farmers started getting really mad at the wealthy people, and angry Americans think with their guns.

In Massachusetts, this all came to a head in 1786 with a long armed conflict called "Shay's rebellion." Don't strain yourself trying to figure off the name of the person that started it.

Springfield, Massachusetts: February 3, 1787

Ply was never that quick in the mornings. Especially in winter. Especially, especially when he could sleep in for the first time in twelve years. He had been working constantly since he and his siblings had won their independence so that he could pay back France and Spain, not to mention his own soldiers, but his boss had insisted that he took a break.

If you asked Ply, though, that was a load of crap. Sure, he had a little bit of a cold, but he'd always just worked through them before _and _making sure that everyone who could work did work would help to bring things back faster, right? He felt really bad for taking time off in the middle of this entire mess.

But on the other hand, _bed. _

It felt so nice to just lay there with his warm, soft mattress, and the blankets and quilts curled around him like a lover, and the morning sun quietly dancing about the room and rubbing against any exposed skin, and- What was that noise?

There it was again, that loud booming noise. That _familiar _loud booming noise.

"Shit." Ply said out loud, throwing the blankets off of himself and racing over to the window.

"_I thought that we fixed this back in January." _He thought, pulling the curtains aside.

By that point, there was screaming and chaos down below. Men were running about crazily, tripping over everything that one could possibly trip over.

He sighed, _"Good going, Ply. You're _so _smart to have decided to vacation in the city with one of the largest weapon stores in the country." _

But on the other hand, wasn't this all supposed to be done with in January?He sighed. Why on earth would _anyone _be looking for more conflict, much less a veteran from the war? Ply was sick and tired of fighting. If he went to war in the next quarter of a century it would be too soon. But rebellious or not, his guys were still his guys so he had better go out and see what was going on. It didn't matter that his boss said he was supposed to be resting.

He got dressed as quickly as he could and ran out into the street. Almost as soon as he exited his house, a man in a brown overcoat zoomed by. Ply reached out and grabbed him by the arm. The man struggled for a moment, but the state held him steady.

"Chill," Ply said, "I'm not gonna hurt you. Just tell me what's going on."

"They fired at us!" He exclaimed, "They fucking fired at us!"

"Who shot who? _What_ is _happening?" _

The man looked up at him and seemed to realize that he wouldn't let go. So in order to regain his freedom, the man started babbling.

"It's the militia. They had cannons and they shot at us. Why would they do that? I recognized one of those guys; he was in my unit during the revolution! What's wrong with them? Now let me go, I gotta get out of here!"

"Fine," Ply said, releasing the man.

He didn't pay any attention as the soldier disappeared faster than snow at Peaches' house. If there was shooting, people would be hurt. _His _people would be hurt. He had to go look.

The state went against the crowd and pushed through to the armory. About twenty men were l on the ground, most crying out in pain. However, Ply thought that he saw one or two of them were completely still. He looked past them and saw the militia lined up in front of the building. William Shepard was standing at the top of the steps.

Carefully dodging casualties, Ply made his way towards the general. The militia didn't stop him, but he obviously wasn't armed and none of them were ready to fire anyway. He strode right up the steps and looked Shepard in the face.

"Massachusetts," the general said, "I am honored to see you."

"Honor my ass, what happened here?" Ply demanded, "I thought we were done with this."

"As long as there are hard times," the older man replied, "There will be rebellion."

"Yeah, but these are _the same guys_ from before, aren't they?"

"They are, but it's not as though we can hove decisively. There's no way for us to organize properly."

"So you're saying that we're powerless and people are going to keep dying just because we can't agree on anything?"

"I believe that is the case, yes," Shepard sighed.

Ply turned around and looked down the steps. People were scurrying like ants beneath a newly flipped log. The wounded men were struggling to get up, lest they be stepped on by the terrified crowd.

"No," Ply said, "I won't let it be."

After Shay's rebellion, Americans realized that they needed a strong central government, something that they had deliberately left out of the Articles of Confederation. Washington and Franklin called for the Articles to be revised in 1787. However, instead of just revising the document, the convention threw the whole thing out and started over. James Madison (who was the president during the war of 1812, you know, the one no one likes to remember because we pretty much lost) and Alexander Hamilton (Basically, all you have to know is that he really hated Jefferson. He didn't amount to much) headed the project. They, and many other delegates, argued for 17 weeks until they finally agreed on the contents of the Constitution, which is still used to this day. Hopefully, you would know this, but it never hurts to check, especially with our horrible educational system.

Anyway, the next ten years were basically spent trying to repay the debt and gain recognition. At this time, America was weak and often pushed around by France, Britain, and Spain (not that we like to talk about this anymore, but...). In spite of the poverty and diplomatic fumbles, America was beginning to show a national identity.

The most distinct sign of this was in the growth of American politics. By the turn of the 19th century, there were two distinct factions: the federalists (who were conservative at the time, but were based mainly in the almost-urban north. They supported a strong central government) and the anti-federalists (who were more in the south and worked more for southern farmers. They liked weaker central government). In the start, most people were federalists. However, as time passed, the party became less and less prominent due to the Alien and Sedation acts (laws to suppress anti-feds), high defensive spending, and our dear old friend high taxes. Because of that in 1800 the Americans elected a non-federalist as president for the first time. The man's name was Thomas Jefferson, and the majority of the world believed that he would call the fall of the American Experiment.

March 4th, 1801: Washington D.C.

It was a nice day, France admitted. The sun was hot but there was a soft sea breeze that kept things from getting too warm. It was an awful shame that God gave such beautiful weather to such a horrid place.

America had written him a letter mentioning how he had a "shiny new capitol," and how "They could be friends now since you've finally gotten rid of your royal bastards too," and how France should "totally come see the inauguration since Jeff was getting in and you always liked Jeff, even if he's from Virginia and so not born awesome."

The Frenchman had to agree with his little brother, at least on the point about Thomas. That redhead was quite endearing indeed; he was almost as good as Franklin had been. It would be so nice to see the man again, even if his hair had gone gray as he had heard.

However, he still had to contest the other points. After all, his brother's "Shiny new capital" didn't look like much. The streets were nothing but dirt and filthy animals roamed up and down. France had never seen such an unsophisticated center of state, even in the dark ages. And France being a republic? Not for long. He loved Napoleon, truly the man was darling, but he would be king soon. That was what happened. Tyranny existed for a while and then was overthrown by well-intentioned young men. Afterwards, the men put themselves in charge and grew old, and then they became tyrants and passed their crowns down to their sons until that regime too was overthrown. That was how it always had been, on his land and that of others, and that was how it always will be, as far as he was concerned.

And he would most likely get to see the exciting part today. Washington and Adams had traded off nicely enough, true, but this time was different. Jefferson believed radically different things than either men, and his and the former president's rivalry seemed almost as deeply engrained and France and England's (relatively, of course: over decades and not centuries). What's more, they both had many people backing them. There would be fighting, France knew it.

Actually, he was surprised that there hadn't been already. Of course, Americans had always been dramatic, and now was most likely no exception. The radicals would wait for the very last moment to strike. Most likely, there would be an assassination the second Thomas would stand to take the oath. Oh yes, that would be something theatrical enough to fit the young country. A single shot as the man lifted his right hand: he would crumple gracefully to the ground like a sheet blown free from a clothesline. It would be a shame to see him go, but France was used to it and it was only fitting that such a magnificent fate was waiting for such a magnificent man.

After all, Franklin had been such a letdown, dying of disease like any of thousands of serfs.

The ship's crew began to call out, saying that passengers could disembark. France smiled, it was about time. France was the first off, of course, as being a country as beautiful as him had advantages. The first person he picked out below was America (the original and only one deserving of the name as far as France was concerned). The blond grinned up at him and waved, but there was sadness in his eyes. He had gotten used to the past four years of power, most likely, and was ashamed to be giving it to anyone, especially Virginia (the two seemed not to get along too well).

"Hello, my friends!" France called as he came close enough that they could hear.

He looked at the rest of them and for the first time took in their sheer number: eighteen nations living in one country. There were thirteen adults, the originals; two children, his lost siblings; and three toddlers that could barely walk, probably the new states that had been born since the country gained its freedom. France smiled, wondering how much larger the family could get without the country falling apart. At least they were no longer a confederacy; they would be stronger now, most likely. He wondered if they bothered to worry about that sort of thing.

"Hello to you too, France." Virginia said.

The state stood proudly at the head of the group with his feet shoulder-width apart and hands on his hips. A smirk played upon his pale lip and utter victory danced in his emerald eyes beneath those thick brows. He was dressed in what France assumed were his finest clothes; mostly red, white and blue but with gold embroidery upon his jacket and breeches. Although he wore no hat and had long smooth hair, the boy reminded him so much of England. And what's more, he reminded him of an England that had just bested him.

It took all of France's control not to strangle Virginia as he came yet closer and asked, "How has life been treating you since we last spoke?"

"Rather well," the state responded. It was good that his accent was different from England's at least, "Better than it has you, anyway, as I understand it."

"Ah, yes, but things are looking up. I can see much glory for myself and my people in the future."

"That is good, old friend."

Old friend? Please, Virginia had been on this Earth for less than one hundred years. What did he know of age? However, diplomacy was still important, and so he opened his mouth not with a retort, but with an apology. "Ah, as it has been so long since the last time I've seen you all. However, I now have the chance to express regret for the actions taken by my three agents that led to so much trouble. However, as you know, there are always kinks to work out when there is a new government."

Virginia smiled diplomatically, (that same false smile England did so well, damn it all) "If we still held a grudge, would we have invited you?"

"Ah, but it is still good to apologize, no?"

"Blah, blah, blah," America chimed in. "Can we just get to the damn inauguration or at least talk about real stuff and not just say shit to make each other feel better?"

"_Thank you, America."_ France thought, _"Thank you for taking that look off of your brother's face. He is rather cute when flustered and rather not when triumphant."_

"Watch your language!" Maryland shouted, "There are children here!"

"Yeah, you bastard!" Shouted a boy that looked just like America except for the hair. That would make it South Carolina then, right? "Shut your goddamn mouth."

The brunet seemed completely unaware of the irony of his statement, and it almost made France chuckle. What got him even closer was Virginia's reaction. He whirled about to face his siblings.

"All of you be quiet!" He yelled, "France is a dignified guest!"

"_And I'm trying to make him think that I'm all grown up and can lace my boots properly," _The elder country almost heard him think.

"Oh, it's quite alright," France said, "I'm used to childish nations, dear little brother. However, I believe America does have a point. We came to see Thomas take up the mantle, not chat endlessly, no?"

"Yes," Virginia said, turning to face him, "Yes of course. Let us go, then."

France couldn't help but smile. It seemed that Virginia had also inherited that adorable blush that England got when he was embarrassed, that same flush that sometimes made it worth all of the suffering that the hooligan put him through.

Sometimes.

~O~O~O~

November 15, 1805: Mouth of the Columbia River

"Wow," Ply said, "Just wow."

"Dumbass, it doesn't look any different from our shores," Carol said, coming back to where Ply was sitting.

The two had been there on the beach pretty much since midday when they had first found the ocean. Carol had been going back and forth from the canoes to get camp set up, but Ply just sat there staring out over the water. He was overwhelmed by everything. In fact, just seconds ago was the first time he had spoke since he had first seen the sea. He had just gotten out of the canoe, walked over to the nearest fallen tree and sat upon it. Ply almost felt bad for his brother, who didn't seem to appreciate what he was looking at. And so, it was Ply's duty to explain this to him.

"Yeah, but it's _not _our shores, Carol, and that's the thing."

"What does it matter? Ocean is ocean."

"Yeah, but this is the _Pacific_ Ocean, not the Atlantic_." _

"Humph."

The blond scowled, "If you don't care, why didn't you stay back in the East with Virginia?"

"It's not that I don't care, it's that you're not looking at this in perspective."

"What perspective?" Ply traced the bark with his fingers as he watched the very Pacific waves roll in, "We made it all the way across the continent. This is amazing, Carol."

"Yeah, we made it, and what did we find? A bunch of animals, savages, and trees. There is nothing out here, Ply."

Ply sighed, "But there _could_ be something here."

"But there's _not._"

"There was nothing where your house is hundred years ago either."

"Yeah, but England just had to get his guys across water to get them to us. That takes three weeks. We have to get everyone over land. It took us a year and a half."

"So we'll build roads."

"Through those mountains?"

"Or around."

"You're an idiot."

"I'm hopeful."

"Listen," Carol sighed and sat down next to his brother, "It can't happen. This land is too rough."

"Our people are rough," Ply said, smiling.

"You're impossible."

"_Optimistic," _Ply pressed.

"_Whatever." _Carol said.

"But even beyond that," Ply said, "Look at this land, Carol. It's beautiful. If nothing else, isn't the view worth all this?" He lifted a hand to gesture out at the sun, setting over the ocean. "Our land is beautiful."

"It's not ours, Ply," Carol said, "_Our _land is back east."

"This is American soil, so it's ours."

"You think like you're the whole country too much."

For the first time in hours, Ply looked away from the ocean and stared straight into the similar color of his brother's eyes, "You know," He said, "I can't help but wonder if you don't think that way enough."

~O~O~O~

**Springfield Armory & Shay's Rebellion: **The armory had been used in one way or another to benefit the US armed forces since the 1600's. During the Revolution (1777 to be exact) it began manufacturing weapons. It was the main target in Shay's Rebellion, as the rebels wanted to steal guns. There was a little bit of a skirmish (basically, the militia had two cannons and fired 'em. Four men died, 20 were injured. There was no musket fire), and that was more or less the end of the rebellion. However, everyone flipped out (even though the rebellion had started in August of the year before). Shay's rebellion was the key event that led to the second constitutional convention (fo' sho). The Springfield Armory was in use until the 1960's when the government decided to turn it into a museum (even though it was still at the time a major research facility for new weapons). PLEASE NOTE: I couldn't find many details other than what I listed about the actual date. I made up a lot as far as the timing and positioning went (names and dates are all correct, though). This passage is kind of like Wikipedia: the overall theme is correct, but don't make it the foundation for any history papers (I felt the need to put something in parentheses here, as I have been putting something in parentheses every single sentence since the first thus far).

**The French Revolution: **Just some minor details: it happened 1789-1799. France overthrew their monarchy of _forever _and set up a whole new government. Very few people can agree on the long-term significance, but most agree that there were some (mostly some gabber about the middle class. Sorry, I never really covered it too well). After the revolution, France set up a republic which lasted for 5 years until Napoleon declared himself emperor (of course, by 1799, he was pretty much in charge anyway). Right after that, they went to war with pretty much the rest of Europe. The late 18th and early 19th century was a messy time to live in France, let's just leave it at that.

**Thomas Jefferson: **The French loved him. A lot. Almost as much as Franklin, actually. Quite possibly in a way his home state would disapprove of, knowing the personalities of the two nation-tans. He was born in Virginia in 1743, was the youngest at the second continental congress, wrote the Declaration of Independence, became the third president, and did a lot of stuff in between and after. Other than the things that I've already said, he is (in)famous for having an affair he covered up so well that it took until we had modern DNA testing to prove it happened beyond a reasonable doubt. He had quite a way with words, and was in fact a ginger. Also, he is one of the four presidents tied for my favorite. The others will all be dealt with in due time. Also, also: he has a boss signature.

**Benjamin Franklin's dead?: **Well, obviously. It happened in 1790, actually. Or he's just hiding. Because, you know, he is a Time Lord and all. That's right, France, he's hiding somewhere: just like Jeanne and Charlemagne. Just keep telling yourself that.

**18****th**** century Washington: **…was a dirty place (it was filthy up until 1873, actually, when Grant realized that there were a hell of a lot of people living in a city with dirt roads and little to no sanitation and that he'd better do something about that). However, it was still made the capitol on July 16th, 1790 as the government felt that there ought to be a federal capitol on neutral soil, as not to make one state better than the rest. In November of 1800, the first congress in DC was held. Jefferson was the first president sworn in in Washington.

**Three Agents: **This refers to the XYZ affair. Basically, three French agents requested a pretty large bribe to let the Americans speak to the French Government about a treaty that they made with Britain involving trade (because pretty much all of America's economy was based upon trade with Britain, so we couldn't really go without our big brother in spite of everything). This sparked the Quazi-War, which was an undeclared war where America and France just kind of picked at each other's boats, even though they had been our best allies during the revolutions. Just goes to show you, America was never good at making friends.

**The Revolution of 1800: **This was really earth-shaking. For the first time in known history, one regime transferred authority to another without any fighting. It seems simple to us today, as this is the method used in most of the world, but at the time it was crazy-awesome.

**The Louisiana Purchase: **France sold us pretty much all of their American land for $15million. Suckers. Although, it was initially a on-the-side deal between Jefferson and Napoleon. Good old Tom made it without congress's approval and probably could have been impeached for it, but when they convened Congress decided that it was a good idea anyway so everything was cool. At the time, though, no one knew the worth of the area sold, as it was pretty much all wilderness back then. It didn't really start to turn into organized territory until the 1850's and it took a long, _long _time in some places. A lot of it is still just prairie and nature (although it was farmed more extensively before the whole dustbowl thing), and now they're starting to make a comeback due to wind farming. There is a nation for this area, but he won't come about until we get close to the Civil War.

**Louis and Clark: **Both men were friends of Jefferson. Their main purpose was to figure out where the Northwest Passage was (They failed, by the way: there is no easy way from the Atlantic to the Pacific through North America). However, in addition to that, they were a great boon to the scientific community, finding many new species and writing many new maps. They reached the Pacific Ocean in the date and place I listed above.

**Nationalism versus Sectionalism: **The final endnote, as this is the single biggest factor in American history. There are two different ways to run politics: to benefit the entire nation, or your little part of it. The conflict between the two exists even to this day, but was far more pronounced before the civil war. Basically the question is "What are you first, a citizen of your state or a citizen of your country?" Oddly enough, the north tended to be more nationalistic than the south from the start.

~O~O~O~

**A/N: **Well, hello there. Not much to say about this one, really. The problem with this era is that a lot of stuff happened, but there's very little info on many of them and they're spread out. Basically, plot-wise, what you have to know is that America took its first steps towards becoming one nation. Really, that's all I had to say for this one.

However, next chapter we have more fun with Canada being a total badass.

Stay tuned!


	6. The Whitehouse burned, burned, burned

**AN: **Well, first off I want to say wow to you guys. I got five whole reviews after the last chapter. I felt so popular! (sorry, I'm a loser, I know) It must have been the promise of a badass Canada. I did my best, but I can't help but feel I might have failed. orz.

Anyway, onto the war of 1812! The funny thing about this is that it was a war between America and Britain that Britain didn't really take part in. Probably because they were off participating in their favorite hobby: beating up Frenchmen. Basically, it was all about Canada (although technically it was part of the UK until after WWI, there were still vast cultural and economic differences and blah, blah, blah, nation versus country, blah, blah, blah)

Tally forth to a hell of a lot of fighting!

Also, I did in fact steal the name of England's ship from Mith and Puell's fic "The International Awesome Pirate Weekend," but I really, really like it.

Enjoy my paltry offerings~

**Warnings: **Same as always: Violence, mild swearing, and OC!states

(Soon we'll have serious racism and yaoi, just you wait)

~O~O~O~

April 21, 1812: Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, Between Massachusetts and Spain

"Alright you bastards!" A burly man yelled from the deck of the other ship,_ the_ _Faerie Queene_ (which was a really sissy thing to name a boat, but it wasEngland's boat so that made sense), "We're comin' aboard. Don't do nuthin' or we'll blow this vessel to the bottom o' the sea!"

Ply sighed to himself as the gangplank was laid between the two ships. He just wanted to go home already. He'd been visiting Spain for _months _just trying to stay friends with the guy, and maybe improve some trade to make up for some of the cash they weren't getting from England. It shouldn't have been hard They'd been allies in the Revolution and had only gotten closer with that Pinkney guy's help (he was a surprisingly good diplomat, for being one of Carol's), but Spain was also so fickle and carefree that staying friends with him was hard work. And he missed home; he wanted to feel American soil under his feet, taste American air, and see American landscapes. Everything was different on the other side of the Atlantic.

Besides, Romano was annoying him. He was too much like Carol had been as a kid.

But then here was England, being an ass and pulling him over. Ply scowled. He knew that the bastard was just doing this to piss him off. He must have seen him or sensed him or something. There were plenty of merchant ships in the sea, but England just _had _to choose this one to target.

Ply would get him for this later. Maybe he'd tip the plank when England tried to come over. Man, that would be funny. Ply knew this for a fact, too. There was this one time when he came to visit during a rainstorm and tried to lecture Ply about tracking mud all over the house. England was hilarious, trying to be terrifying while dripping wet and wearing a flamboyant hat droopy with water.

However, England didn't come right away. Instead, the big guy hopped onto the plank. When he reached the other side, he waved his gun around and forced the American crew into line. He continued to threaten them with torture and death. Most of them were afraid, not of the possibility of being shot as much as the possibility of having to _choose _between getting shot and being forced into a lifetime of suckage on a British ship. Ply couldn't blame them. No one liked working for England, the guy was a royal asshole.

Oh hey, that was funny. Heh. _Royal _asshole. Ply cracked himself up. Damn, there was another one! Man, he was on fire.

However, it was then that the large man addressed the entire crew, instead of just forcing individuals to smell his scurvy breath. "Now you sons o' bitches had better listen and listen good. Our captain's comin' aboard, and you'll not say a word unless he tells you to and do whatever he says, got it?"

Wisely, no one said anything.

"Good," He said, "You yanks ain't as stupid as you look." He turned back to his ship, "Captain Kirkland, I've got them under control."

"Thank you, Bill." England said.

With practiced ease, he jumped onto the gangplank and strolled onto Ply's ship as easily as if he were walking into his own home. He surveyed the men lined up with a smirk on his face until his eyes fell upon his former charge. Then he just kinda glared.

"_Well, fuck," _Ply thought.

He didn't think that England would take him, but that didn't mean that the Brit wasn't going to make his life difficult.

"Well, well," the empire said, "What have we here?"

"You _know _what you have here," England was obviously already set on being a bitch, so it wasn't like a little bit of cheek would get him in any more trouble, right?

"Oy!" The burly man, Bill apparently, shouted, "I said be quiet!"

"It's alright," England said, "I asked him a question. Besides, there'd be no point in wasting your breath. He wouldn't know respect if it came riding in with a parade and ten foot banners." He smiled, amused by his own joke. What kind of loser did that? "Anyway, _boy, _care to explain as you're so intent on talking?"

"Sure thing, Artie," Ply said, knowing that he hated to be called that "You stormed an American merchant vessel and are harassing and threatening innocent men."

"Jones, you weren't innocent when you were in your mother's womb."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" He smiled innocently.

England flushed bright red but tried to cover it by turning away from him and looking down the line, "Most of these men are deserters of the Royal Navy, and it is my duty to discover which ones are and bring them to justice one way or another." He stepped up to the man at the far end of the line, "Let's start with you."

The first man was twenty five years old, a carpenter, and absolutely full of muscle. Even under normal circumstances, England would have taken him. However, as it turned out England took absolutely everyone he came up to, most likely just to piss Ply off. As he was picking people, other members of his actual crew came over. They were probably there to discourage the Americans from trying anything.

Eventually, he came to Ply.

"You gonna take me too, Artie?"

"As if I would let an idiot like you on my ship. You'd run the _Queene _aground the next time we docked anywhere. No, I'm leaving you here. I wonder if you'll survive until you drift into land somewhere."

"Bastard."

"Always, Jones. But since you've been so difficult, I'll also relieve you of your cargo. Go down below, men. Take anything of value."

It only made sense that they did what England had said, but it still bothered Ply. Yeah, no one wanted to get shot, but it was still torture to see his crew coming up again and again with crates and barrels full of Spanish goods.

England had stayed on deck with Ply. The Brit didn't say thing, didn't even look at him. He just stood there with his back to his former charge, staring out over the horizon.

Ply considered making a move. If he could take England out he had a good chance of ambushing the pirates and freeing the rest of his crew. It would be so cool and heroic, just like something out of a novel.

"_Well," _He thought, _"Here goes..." _

But before Ply could even move a muscle, England drew his sword, "Don't try anything." He said, "I'm doing this only because I need men to fight France. It would be against your interests to get involved."

"You're taking my guys. I'm pretty much already involved."

"Obviously you know nothing of international politics."

"Obviously you know nothing of _your face." _

England rolled his eyes but said nothing. Good, Ply was getting to him. However, before he could take advantage of his argumentative triumph, the crews appeared above deck again. Only some of them carried chests, so that must have meant they'd taken it all.

"We searched every container in th' hole ship," Bill said, "There's nothin' but food n' other provisions left."

"Good," England turned to appraise the American portion of the crew, "It's nice to know that even though you've been living in America you're still British enough to work diligently." The Brit stepped back onto the gangplank, "Now come. We're taking you back to England so you can be properly assigned vessels. Oh, and Jones," He looked over his shoulder, "Most likely you've hidden cabin boys somewhere on the ship. Show me how _independent _you really are and teach them to sail this back to whatever so-called state it came from. Once you're there, be sure to write me. I'd like to know how even a _hero _such as you pulled it off." And then he was back on the other boat and out of Ply's life.

As much as it bugged him on principle, the state ended up meeting England's every demand. However, the letter he wrote wasn't about how he had returned to Boston. It was about he was going to kick England's ass and take Canada back home with him

~O~O~O~

April 26, 1813: York, Upper Canada

Canada awoke to the sound of pebbles being thrown at his window. He groaned. It probably wasn't even for him. Most likely, one of the love-struck admirers that Ana had gotten after her last growth spurt was coming to serenade her now that it was warm enough to be outside in the middle of the night. It seemed as though the stones had failed to wake their intended target. The thirteen-year-old girl was still curled against Canada's side, breathing slowly. Her brother gently lifted a hand and shook her, knowing that she would never hear him if he just called her name.

"Mmm… what is it?" She asked, opening one chocolaty eye.

"Sorry, but one of the boys from town is throwing rocks at us."

"How do you know it's one of them?"

"Who else would it be, eh? No one remembers who I am except for you. Even Mr. Kumumiro forgets me all the time."

"Kumajiro."

"Bless you."

"I meant-" Ana sighed, "oh, never mind. You're probably right anyway."

"Thanks. Now please go look. I want to go back to sleep."

"Okay, okay." The girl got out of bed and pulled a dressing gown over her dress, "Who decided to come for people at night anyway? It's not like anyone's that pretty right out of bed…" She pulled aside the curtain, "Erm… Canada?"

"Yes?"

"It's not a boy from town."

"Huh?" Canada grabbed his glasses from the bedside table.

"It's New York and Massachusetts. And they have guns."

"_Shit!" _Canada swore (in French so that Ana wouldn't understand).

He jumped out of bed, grabbed his own dressing gown and ran to the window. Ana kept obligingly out of his way. Canada glared down at his brothers.

Ply smiled back and waved before saying something to New York. The taller state nodded and walked around to the front of Canada's house. Then Ply looked back at Canada expectantly.

The older nation opened the window and yelled down, "What do you want?"

"I came to get Ana back."

"And this couldn't wait until the morning, eh?"

"Well, I decided that you should come back with us too, and New York said that we'd need to kick your ass first, and it'd be easier if you're still tired."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"To buy time. New York should have your lock picked by now."

Sure enough, a moment later, Canada heard a loud click and the door swinging open. He had a chain to hold the door shut, but how long would that last with his freakishly strong brothers?

"Dammit!" Canada called, not caring if Ana heard him or not at this point.

He ran over to the wall, pulled down his hunting rifle and began to fumble with the powder and bullets that he kept with it. He wished that he had had the foresight to purchase a dueling pistol. It would have been much more useful right now. Once the gun was loaded, he grabbed his bayonet and slid it over the muzzle. He didn't want to have to take the two of them in hand-to-hand combat. He didn't know if he could win that way.

"Just think of it!" Ply continued, "You'll be on the side of justice and freedom and awesomeness! You don't even have to speak French anymore, so you won't sound drunk half the time. And- Oh hey! Your Teddy Bear is so cute! Ooh. He shouldn't have tried to bite New York, though..."

"MISTER KAMAKURO!" Canada yelled.

"Oh hey, New York needs me, gotta go four-eyes!"

Canada stared out the window for a moment, trying to keep himself under control.

"What can I do?" Ana asked.

"Hide," Canada said, "And jump out the window if they manage to take me. You're strong enough to handle it. Find Mr. Kukajira and take him with you. I don't know if he'll be okay, but if nothing else he deserves a decent burial."

"But the treaty said that I belong to them."

"I don't care what the stupid treaty says," Canada spat, "Ply took England from me. He took New York from me. He even ended up taking France from me. He might have just taken Mr. Kumajiku from me too. He's not taking you from me."

With that, he walked out of his room and over to the landing at the top of the stairs. Ply and New York were banging on the door, probably hoping that either it or the chain would give out. Canada waited for them, gripping his gun. After a few more moments, the chain popped out of the doorframe and the other two stumbled into the room.

"Get out of my house," Canada said, cocking his gun.

"Mmm, nope," Ply said, "I only came for what's mine anyway."

"You'll never own anything this side of Niagara Falls."

"Listen," said New York, "Don't make us fight you. I don't want to have to shoot my own brother."

"Neither would I, but I've done it before and if you make me I swear to god I'll do it again."

Ply laughed his idiotic laugh, "Yeah, but that was before you had so many of our guys living here." He started walking towards the stairs, "So somewhere deep down, you know that you totally support us and-"

The state probably wouldn't have shut up , but Canada had shot him right between the eyes.

"_Still got it," _Canada thought as his younger brother's eyes widened in shock and he collapsed onto the floor.

However, now he had used his one shot and New York was still standing. Man, he really wished that he had a revolver. If only they weren't so damn expensive!

The taller blond was aiming his gun right for Canada. The British colony waited for the last moment, rummaging around in his pockets to make New York believe that he had more bullets. And then, when he knew New York was about to shoot, Canada dove sideways off of the landing. He landed as gracefully as a cat and ran towards the other nation, using his musket as a spear. The taller blond used his own, now empty, gun to knock Canada's away, but the colony still didn't stop. He just kneed New York in the stomach. The state just took a couple of steps back, his breath knocked out of him. His rifle clattered to the ground. Canada tried to stab him with the bayonet, but New York managed to just knock it away again with his left arm while providing a killer hook with his right.

Canada leapt onto him putting as much of his weight on the front of the taller man's shoulders as he could. Quite unbalanced, New York fell onto his back. Canada ended up straddling his stomach and punching him repeatedly in the face.

"Get. Your. Fat. Asses. Out. Of. My. House!" Every word was punctuated with another blow.

A pair of strong hands came up and grabbed his shoulders. New York looked horrifying. His nose was smashed in and face was covered in blood, but his ice blue eyes were still clear. And angry.

"Make me," He said

With that, he pulled himself up and bashed his bloody forehead against Canada's clean one. The long-haired nation fell backwards, feeling dizzy. New York took the opportunity to flip him onto his front and pin him.

Canada tried to struggle free, but it was impossible when one of New York's large hands had a death grip on his hair, the other one held both of Canada's wrists behind his back, and all of his weight was on the small of his back.

"Listen," The American said, "I won't take you and Ana unless I don't see any other way."

"What? But wasn't that the reason that you came here?"

"Yes. Don't get me wrong, I want you two to join us as much as Ply does, but I need to take that idiot back to camp and remove the bullet before it makes him even more brain damaged than he already is. I can't carry all three of you in one trip, so don't give me any trouble and I won't do anything."

"You promise?"

"I can't give you anything if you won't take my word."

"…Okay."

"Thank you."

The weight on Canada's back vanished and he backed up onto his knees. He watched as New York calmly picked up Ply and slung him over his shoulder. Canada could hear moans and whimpers coming out of the unconscious man's mouth. Wow, he was alive again already. New York walked to the door but paused as he reached the threshold.

"We will be back," He said, looking over the shoulder that didn't have a half-dead nation on it, "And we _will _take York."

Canada smirked, "You'd be better off burning it. We Canadians will never give up."

As it turned out, that was exactly what happened.

~O~O~O~

August 24, 1814: Washington DC

"_This is too easy," _Canada thought, _"Far too easy." _

Were they really going to just get away with sacking America's capitol? At least _they_ had put up a fight in April. Here, thus far, there had been nothing, except for a couple of men shooting at them from the second floor of a house. They'd burned down both parts of the Americans' congress, and there was still no musket-fire.

Plenty of building-fire, though. Heh.

Dear God, he was becoming his brother. Dammit, England had trouble telling them apart as it was.

Before he could berate himself further, though, he finally did meet his first challenge: Virginia.

"Sir," The long-haired state said, "We request that you leave immediately."

"Oh," Canada said, "So you _can_ see me. I thought that you were afraid that your capitol was just randomly blowing up or something."

"Is that a no?"

"Of course it's a no!" Geez, even he wasn't this polite, "Now please move. I'm going to go burn down your boss's house."

"I can't let you do that, I'm afraid," Virginia said.

"How will you stop me? You're unarmed."

"I am," Virginia said, "But she's not."

"Huh?"

"Eat lead, limey bastard!"

A shot rang out and one of Canada's men fell over. The nation turned to look. Maryland was standing on the second floor of a nearby tavern. She had obviously come to fight, dressed in men's clothes and armed to the teeth. Three pistols and a saber hung from her belt and rifle was attached to her back in addition to the one still smoking in her hands. There was a rustling of cloth and then two more bangs. Oh, Virginia kept his guns and a nasty-looking dagger _under _his coat.

This day kept getting better and better.

Maryland emptied her second rifle and then leapt down to use her other weapons. After a few more shots, Virginia charged forward with his knife. However, between Canada and his remaining men, he managed to get the two of them eventually. Although, the colony grimaced, it had cost him an awful lot.

Oh well, how many men did it take to burn down a building?

And so, he marched forwards. People ran from the Whitehouse. One soldier asked if he should shoot them, but Canada said no. They were here to humiliate the Americans, not slaughter them. Once they got to the mansion, Canada turned to his men.

"Well then, get to it."

Part of him didn't want to go too deeply into detail. This still left a bad taste in his mouth. It wasn't like in York, where he had been enraged and was only defending himself. This was an out and out attack on his family. If England hadn't told him to do it, he never would have dreamed of sacking the city like this.

Even as he watched the Whitehouse go up in flames, he didn't feel the joy of victory, of beating his brother _just this one time. _No, he felt like he had kicked a three-legged puppy. In the nuts.

The men left eventually to go and raid some other buildings, but Canada elected to stay. He sat down on the lawn of the Whitehouse and watched the fire devour it.

"What did I even come here for?" He asked no one in particular.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm here for a rematch."

Canada jumped to his feet, "Ply!"

"Yep, that's me." He smiled that idiotic grin of his, "Like I said; I want to get in a fair fight, one where you don't just snipe me. I've been getting nothing but crap from Penn and New York for the past year and a half about that."

"How can you just smile like that? Your capitol's on fire!"

"Well, first off, this'll get you out of here, won't it? Besides," He widened it, "It creeps you out, don't it?"

"You-" The elder brother couldn't even come up with something horrible enough to label the state as, so he just went with, "Take me seriously!"

Ply had a moment to blink before Canada rammed into him. The state took a few steps back.

"That's better!" He said, "It's about time we got into a good-old fistfight!"

"Shut up!" Canada said, punching him in the face. Ply flew back further, and Canada backed up so that he'd have more time to respond when his brother counterattacked.

"Damn," Ply said, touching his face before pulling away to inspect the blood on his fingers, "You're strong."

"What do you expect? I've been fighting you my entire life."

Ply laughed, a single chuckle for once, "Apparently your entire life isn't long enough to get it through your head that I always kick your ass."

"Funny, that's not what you said when New York was carrying you out of my house." This felt too easy too. He shouldn't have been able to banter like this with someone he was at war with.

"That wasn't a real fight," his brother replied, pouting.

"Of course it was."

"Well then," Ply said, running forward, "Prove it!"

"Fine," Canada said.

Ply was running with a punch ready. Canada would go down if he took that to his head or stomach, so he moved to dodge. However, the American was expecting that. He opened the fisted hand and grabbed Canada's arm. He kneed him in the stomach.

Canada backed up, shook his head, and charged. However, he feinted too, bringing back his right arm to allow his left room to come up under Ply's chin. Still, the younger blond managed to retaliate with a smack to Canada's head. That didn't hurt too badly, so Canada threw forward his previously recalled right arm and hit his brother in the jaw.

"Goddammit," Ply said, rubbing his jaw.

"Ready to give up, eh?"

The younger brother smiled, a somewhat playful glint in his eyes, "Not on your life."

They went backwards and forwards like that for quite a while, but it was never as organized as the beginning. It seemed like after a while it was just the two of them standing two feet apart and punching each other as hard and often as possible.

Then, suddenly, Ply backed up. The two blonds stared at each other, breathing deeply. They both must have looked awful, bruises all over and covered in dust and blood. Canada couldn't dream that he looked any better than his brother, anyway. It was at that point that the state fell to his knees.

Canada just stood there blinking for a moment. "I won?" He asked. With no response from Ply, he threw his hands over his head, "I won! I wo-ah!" It seemed that his arms had made him too unstable for his jelly-like legs to support and he fell backwards onto his rump.

Ply laughed and crawled over to him, "Seems more like a draw to me."

"You're right… For once."

"Hey!"

The both of them laughed before lapsing into a comfortable silence. Ply turned around and sat down next to his brother, both of them watching the burning building as though it were one of the small campfires that the two had made as children. For once, Canada spoke first.

"We're supposed to hate each other right now, eh?"

"Yeah, technically, but I don't think I couldn't ever hate you, man. Not really."

"I agree. No matter now much you piss me off, Ply, I'll always like you, I think."

"That's because we're bros."

"Well, Ply, just because we're brothers doesn't mean we'll like each other. Just look at England's family."

"Yeah, thank God he didn't bring that over here with him. But being bros is different from being brothers, you know?"

"No, I don't. Bro is short for Brother, isn't it?"

The American sighed, "yeah but-" He shrugged, "Meh, you'll understand someday."

"Well, I think I kind of get what you mean, so it's alright, eh?"

"Yeah, in spite of this all, I think it is."

Canada smiled and looked at his brother, "I call a truce."

"I thought that we already had."

"No, I mean a real truce. I don't think we should be fighting anymore, eh."

Ply smiled, one of the real ones that filled his eyes, "Me neither. It's good to have you back bro."

"It's good to be back, America," Canada whispered.

"What did you say?"

"N-nothing."

"No, really, I couldn't hear you."

"I didn't say anything."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Well, okay," His brother obviously didn't believe him.

But you know what, that was okay. He hadn't heard Canada slip.

Although really, that name fit him more every day that passed.

~O~O~O~

**History Notes: **

**The Pirates and Impressments: **Impressing was one of the main reasons for the war of 1812. Basically, life in the Royal Navy sucked so bad that no one wanted to join it, so naval ships would pull over American merchant vessels and take members of the crew, claiming that they were deserters from the Navy (as England does here). _Technically, _since he's a privateer and not on an official naval ship, IRL he probably wouldn't have bothered impressing sailors. Although, if you're going to get picky about accuracy, the golden age of piracy ended in the 1720's so he probably wouldn't have been a privateer nearly 100 years later. But it's my bloody fic and I do what I want. If you really need a crappy explanation, let's just say that he's officially part of the Navy, but the King let him keep his cool hat and tight trousers (the poor guy loves them and won't get them again until the 1970's). Also, is gangplank the correct term for what you would cross to meet with people on another vessel? I know that that's what you use to embark or disembark at port, but I don't know what they would have put across boats and I couldn't find out (I tried).

**Pinkney's Treaty:** The first real successful treaty that America made as a sovereign nation. It was with Spain, basically saying that they were friends and that Americans could go through Spanish Louisiana (they had the mouth of the Mississippi at the time). Spain was pretty much America's only friend that is actually in Hetalia (We also probably traded with Portugal, but (s)he isn't in Hetalia as far as I know) at the time of the war of 1812, too, because we decided to stop trading with both France and Britain to try to stay out of the Napoleonic wars. For a year, we tried to not trade with anyone, but it… erm… didn't work (major understatement. It absolutely tanked our economy. Even just not trading with those two severely damaged us since England was the largest purchaser of cotton in the world and all). Yes, Pinkney was South Carolinian.

**Use of Human Names: **To be honest, I really don't like using them. However, as I figure it, there are three kinds of people who know of the Nations: their superiors (both in the sense of their bosses and commanding officers if they have them), a precious individual or two (such as Jeanne D'Arc for France and Mozart for Austria), and some special subordinates sworn to secrecy (such as Workbitch Bartholomew). Everyone else knows them by their aliases. England probably clears out his crew every few years or "retires" and lies low for a while so that they don't realize he's been a privateer since the sixteen hundreds.

**York: **This was the colonial capitol of Upper Canada (It's called upper because it's closer to the source of the Saint Laurence river than, say, Quebec). It was in the same spot as Toronto is nowadays. A lot of people remember the burning of Washington DC during the war of 1812 (partially because there's a catchy song about it that most people attribute to the Arrogant Worms, famous for such songs as "Canada's Really Big", who never touched it. It was written by Three Dead Trolls in a Baggie, thank you very much), but we burned down their capitol first (We started the day after the date mentioned, April 27th) and were a lot nastier. The burning of DC was just federal buildings whereas in York we looted everything that we could. Canadians are polite about revenge, just like everything else I guess. Of course, that was probably good, because there was pretty much no resistance to the attack on DC. Nice goin', guys.

**Ana living with Canada:** At this time, the majority of what we now know as the Midwest was unpopulated. No one was there except for Native Americans and the occasional fur trapper. However, one of America's reasons for going to war with Britain was because there were a bunch of soldiers living in the Ohio River valley, which is part of Ana's territory. So, because of that, I figured Canada would more or less be in charge of her. Also, people in the Great Lakes region tend to be stereotyped together with Canadians as far as accents, sports obsessions, lack of civilization, and basically being ignored the rest of the time. Our nation-tan had to get it from _somewhere…_

**Canada's gun: **In my mind, Canada would have never really kept firearms in his house by his own volition. The gun he has he only keeps because England keeps asking him to fight all the time. Also, it's useful for hunting when he's running low on money (He's damn good at it to. Most of the time the moose don't see him until it's too late…) He mentions wanting a revolver. These were actually very first invented in England in 1597, but they weren't mass-produced until 1822 (I thought that was kind of cool since I always associate them with the mid 1800's to the mid 1900's). Therefore, in 1813, they would have most likely been a rare commodity. England himself probably has one, as do most of the Americans because a lot of them like shiny new weapons.

"**So many of our guys living here": **After the Revolution, a lot of loyalists went to Canada. Because of this, many of the American generals believed that Canada would sympathize with them and fall under their control easily. Apparently, they missed how many of these people were afraid of being persecuted by Americans and that they liked being British subjects. Even though that's why they left for Canada in the first place. Oops.

"**I won?": **To this day, no one can agree on who won the war of 1812, really. All we know for sure is that by 1814, both sides were sick of fighting and basically signed a treaty that kept all the boundaries the way that they were before. Some people claim that it was the British, some claim it was the Americans, some claim both, some claim neither. However, strangely enough, the war managed to usher in an era of peace, and American and Britain have never been enemies since (well, it got a little bit hairy there during the Civil War, but more on that later). So over all, I'd say that the real significance was that it showed everyone that America wasn't just a bunch of spoiled brats, but a country strong enough to command at least a little bit of respect. Maybe we did win in the long run after all.

**A/N:** This chapter was really fun for me. It had everything, as far as I'm concerned: bad puns, several fistfights, TightPants!England, Badass!Canada, ChicksWithGunsAndSwords, and Fluffy!NorthAmericanSuperTeam. And I'm glad I did it that way, because no matter whether or not you guys like it and review, I still got everything I wanted, so whaddya want (Damn you, Francis if you ever get around to reading this!).

And next chapter gets better: my 19th century OTP shows up. That's all I'm saying for now (you can be free to guess who it is, but you'll probably be wrong.)

However, update will probably be even later. At the very earliest, it'll be Thursday the 10th. I'm going to do a research project in Florida, and I won't have much time. But there WILL be an update, I swear it on my massive manga collection and special dark chocolate pocky.


	7. Separation and Unity

A/N: Look! I'm back! To make it even better, you guys get a double chapter this week. (totally trying to cover up the fact that she's been a lazy-ass) Basically, I realized that the antebellum chapter I had written in my notebook was nothing but character development, so I combined it with my territorial expansion chapter and we got this monstrosity. Also, I'm sorry for the uber delay. In addition to my actual late-ness due to trying to make up for lost time (damn you, Florida! You dick!), Fanfiction was being an arse. This was done on monday. Rough draft for eight is already done.

So in reality, I'm only a week behind instead of two. However, now the musical is over, I have my afternoons again and I will be able to catch up (hopefully).

Enjoy the character development!

Warnings: We have southern characters from the Antebellum era, so watch out for racist ideals and language (please note that these do not represent the ideas of the author and blah, blah, blah), Fail!Accents, swearing, OC!States.

Cambridge, Massachusetts: April 30, 1843

Life was good, Ply decided as he watched the birds flying above him, life was really good.

It was spring, the sun was shining, and the air was sweet with the scent of blossoms. He had the perfect way to enjoy it too, sprawled out on the lawn of the house he was staying at. The grass he was currently laying in was as soft as a rabbit's ears. He would know too, since a couple minutes ago one had come up to him for the first time in the better part of a century. At the moment he had his fingers buried in its thick fur, carefully grooming out the last of its winter coat and occasionally lifting his hand to caress the base of its ears. A small smile played across his face and his eyelids just couldn't stay all the way open.

Honestly, he was surprised that he wasn't asleep already. But even though he was awake it was still nice to just close his eyes, let go of everything, and _feel. _Emerson would approve. That would have probably been good, since Ply was living with him.

The blond scowled as he remembered why. He had lived in his Boston house for almost as long as he could remember, and before then he had just lived out in the woods or the fields. Sometimes, honestly, he missed those days. Things had been so simple, even if it was really lonely. So when his boss had finally forced him into allowing his house to be renovated, Ply had suggested living in the wilderness. But, of course, his boss decided he still needed to be in the area. Stupid boss and deciding that he had to pay attention to things. At least he had managed to talk his way into living with someone almost as interested in nature as he was. After all, for a while there he was worried about them sending him off to live with the crazy socialists.

Not that it had turned out like he had hoped. Both Emerson and Thoreau were too busy writing to hang out most of the time and when they weren't they criticized him for his interest in all the new discoveries that scientists were making. He still really respected the guys, but all that about understanding the world through feelings and instinct alone was just weird. It didn't make any sense. At all. He had better things to worry about than feelings, like what each little bump on people's heads meant.

God, why was he thinking about that sort of stuff? He should be paying attention to how awesome of a day it was!

But then it was too late. Thoreau walked outside and up to the state. The rabbit ran away.

Dammit.

"What is it?" the state asked.

"Nothing. The children are done with their lessons for today."

"Already?"

"Well, it _is _a nice day, and they arestill young."

"Mmm." Ply calmly put his hands under his head.

"Say, Alfred."

"Yes?"

"Would you remind me as to how you came to stay here?"

Well, the truth was that he had told him who he was because international secrets could be compromised for the sake of a warm bed and food that didn't come from crazy people. But he didn't need to know that. "'Cause my house needs to be refurbished and I needed somewhere to stay," Ply said.

"Yes, but Ralph won't let just anyone stay here, and he doesn't seem to know you that well."

"He wanted to get to know me better," Ply said honestly.

"But there's more to it than that." The author said, "I know it."

"Rationality again?"

"Indeed. Although, observation does have a part to play as well. He always speaks so highly of you but he's always s vague and when I ask him for details he changes the subject."

"Well, what do you think it is?" Ply asked, propping himself up on his elbows. Thoreau always told good stories and the state wanted to know what he had come up with.

"You're not human, are you, Alfred?"

The blond blinked. Well, he didn't see that coming. Still, he snorted a laugh, "What do you think I am then?"

"A personification."

"Of what?" Ply was interested. This was the first time anyone had gotten this close to guessing his identity.

"America."

"The entire country?"

"Yes."

Oh! There and gone. However, he was close enough that it wouldn't have been right to deny him the truth.

"You're wrong." Ply said.

"Am I?" The author knitted his brow.

"Well, I mean, you're kind of right. But I'm just this state, not the whole country."

"I see," Thoreau seemed to puzzle this over for a while, "Why are you so sure that you're only Massachusetts?"

"I-" Ply blinked, "Honestly, I'm not sure."

"Not sure that you know, or not sure that you're only one state?"

"Well, both. I have brothers and sisters that are all the other ones after all, but I guess I never really thought about it."

"So there's no unity to the states?"

"No! That's not how it is at all. Well, we do pretty much just come together for Christmas and Easter and otherwise just mind our own business, but it's not nearly as bad as you make it sound!"

"But aren't we one nation?"

"We try. It's just..." He sat up, "This country is so big, and the people are so divided that it's hard."

"So you give up?"

"No! Well, sometimes. Clay keeps trying, but it doesn't seem like we ever get anywhere."

"So then there is no America?"

"I don't think that there's one of us for the whole thing, no."

"Well, why not? Don't we have one government? Don't we work together?"

"Less often than we used to" The blond frowned, "It's giving me a headache to have everyone fighting like this. Hey, can we change the subject? I don't wanna think about this right now."

"Of course."

And so they began to speak of simpler things, like old poetry and animals. Still, Ply couldn't leave the idea of being America alone. After all, someone needed to run this crazy place, and hadn't he been more or less the center of America the beginning?

Besides, he liked the way that the name sounded.

February 26, 1845: Austin, Texas

America decided he was going to pick up the entire state of Massachusetts and move it to Texas. He already had it all figured out. All he needed was a pair of silk gloves, a bottle of oil, and a really big railroad car. His boss wouldn't want him so far south, though. Neither would Virginia for that matter, and he was getting harder and harder to deal with. He had already convinced Texas to life his stupid way of life, and he wasn't even here! Yeah, he was probably back on his plantation watching his slaves toil away in the fields and laughing maniacally just like the evil noble he was. Yeah, that sounded just like him. And he was so set on being an oppressive dickhead that he had just sent Carol, who was currently passed out and drooling in an armchair, instead. America was sure that he had chosen the brunet just for the sake of making America's life miserable.

But you know what, that was a big part of why Ply decided to become America in the first place. Someone in the family had to be mature, unwilling to act on petty grudges, and able to stand for justice and equality and freedom. Besides, he did the most studying so he was totally the smartest and totally could handle having the weight of the nation on his broad and incredibly attractive shoulders.

That was why he was here, sitting near the telegraph machine in the middle of the night, waiting for the clock to strike midnight and the message telling him whether or not he was keeping Texas to arrive.

America looked at the fourteen-year-old girl asleep in an armchair halfway across the room. Her hat had fallen off, letting her wild chestnut hair free. Her wire-framed glasses were crooked. Her face was relaxed except for her left eyebrow which was twitching every few seconds. One arm had fallen off the rest and reached most of the way to the floor.

The blond couldn't help but smile when he looked at her. She appeared so sweet for once. It was almost hard to believe that she was the same girl who had tried to kick him in the nuts as soon as he walked in her door before calling him a damn Yankee and running for her gun. He rubbed his shoulder. She had an arm too and was crafty enough to get him. To be fair, it was right after dinner and stuff, but _damn._ He was almost afraid to let the southerners have her, but being afraid was girly and unheroic so he wasn't really scared.

Not one bit.

Besides, one day she'd come around. Some day, they'd _all _come around. After all, all of them were still American and still too awesome to _really _be evil. And anyway, they couldn't stay like this for much longer. All this tension had to end eventually, and America knew that they would stay together. They were a family, and that's why America had never minded too much when Carol had made all sorts of nasty comments about his lineage. All that the southerners had to do was give up their stupid medieval way of life and everything would be cool. Stupid and medieval wasn't American anyway; it was pure unadulterated English and that eyebrow-bastard was the reason America had to give the southerners Texas anyway. Couldn't he just learn to stay in his own hemisphere already? That was what was supposed to happen. Q said so.

And so here he was, waiting at the only telegraph machine in Texas for Penn, who was staying in DC, to hear the result of the vote. America kind of wanted to go to sleep. It was late here, and even later back east. Maybe they'd just put off the vote until tomorrow. After all, it's not like Congress could agree on anything these days anyhow. But on the other hand, if they'd just put it off Penn probably would have sent a message. Besides, he really, really wanted to be the first down here to know. He would probably be the third as it was, after the representatives and Penn. How many more would know before he got the chance to?

He got up out of his wooden chair and stretched. His spine cracked in several places. It felt good, but America still winced. It wasn't a good sign for someone as young as he was to be making noises like that. If he wasn't careful, he'd turn into an old man just like everyone in Europe before he knew it.

Couldn't worry about that right now, though. He walked over to Texas. If nothing else, he'd try to make sure she could be comfortable for one night before his brothers took her away. Her room was right next door, so moving her would be really easy and he would hear it if the machine suddenly sprang to life. America slid his hands under the girl, one across her back and the other beneath her knees. He picked her up very carefully so as not to wake her and carried her to her door. Thankfully, it was cracked open a little bit so he could open it by nudging it gently with a shoulder.

He walked inside and met his main obstacle: actually getting her in bed and under the covers. Crouching, he managed to grasp the quilt with the very tips of his fingers. He shuffled to the edge of the bed, taking the blanket with him. Satisfied with the spot he had made for his new sister, Ply stood up again and set the girl down. She grumbled a bit as he slid his arms out from under her, but she didn't wake up so it was all good. He covered her and gently tucked her in.

She let out a contented little sigh and smiled slightly. Seeing her, Ply couldn't help but return the expression. Texas was even cuter than Ana had been, what with her unruly hair and thin hands with knuckles that were just a bit too big and sweet heart-shaped face and that serene look that had for once taken the place of her nigh-on perpetual frown and...

Well, she shouldn't sleep with her glasses on. He carefully pulled the wire frames from her face. Instead of folding them, though, he turned them over in his hands. There was something just... nice about them. Really, really nice.

They weren't thick like glasses that people really needed to see where they were going. In fact, when America looked through them they didn't seem to magnify things at all.

As he looked through them held out a foot away he got the sudden urge to slide them all the way on, just to see what it was like. Well, it wasn't going to hurt anything. America carefully slid the glasses onto his face and looked around. He couldn't help but blink. He had never even imagined that the world could look this way.

There was a new edge, a new hardness to everything but at the same time there was an unquestionable new beauty: the clearer grain in the wood of Texas's bedpost, the brightness of the constellations through the window that was now just a little bit wavy, the different layers of the brightly-colored quilt, and that was just the start.

This was strange, though. He ran two fingers along the frame, from the lenses to where it curved around his ear. He had never needed glasses before. Sure, Penn, Rhode Island, and Delaware all wore them, but they had checked his eyes a couple of times and he had been fine. Maybe, he smiled, maybe it was because he was America now. He had a hell of a lot further to see than when he was just a state.

But then again, maybe there was something special about these glasses in particular: the glasses that Spain had given Texas nine years ago when she declared her independence from Mexico, saying that she'd need them to watch out for the woman. But it wasn't like she needed them anymore now that she had been annexed. America was going to take care of her.

He gently brushed some of her soft brown hair from her eyes and left. He sat back down in front of the telegraph machine and sighed. The damn thing was almost out of paper. Again. He had used like ten rolls on this thing! There had to be some way to have the thing just turn on when he was actually getting a message. This wasted so much paper! Oh well, they were going to have to pay off Texas's ten million dollar debt, so who cared about the little bit to buy some extra rolls? It _did _actually grow on trees, after all.

America smiled to himself and watched the reel unwind and rested his cheek on his palm. There was something about the rotation that was very calming, almost like a lullaby slowly coaxing him to sleep. Then, all of a sudden, he saw a small metallic flash out of the corner of his eye. He perked up immediately.

"Goddammit, Penn!" He shouted, "It's about time!"

With a cry, Carol bolted upright.

"What's goin' on?" The brunet demanded.

"Penn finally got around to letting us know what's up."

"Railly?" Carol bolted to the machine and leaned over America's shoulder to watch, "What's it say?"

America scowled, "I don't know yet. You gotta wait until it's done."

Carol rolled his eyes.

"Hey!" The brunet shouted after a minute, "Where'd you get them glasses?"

"Oh, oops." He had forgotten about those.

"They're, erm, they're Texas's," America said, taking them off.

"Why're ya wearin' her glasses?" Carol asked sharply.

"I just, you know, wanted to try 'em on."

"So ya took 'em fer yerself?"

"I was just borrowing them and forgot I was wearing 'em, okay?"

"Sure."

"I _was!" _

"Okay," he said.

"I totally don't believe you," His tone said.

"_Well, who cares what he and his stupid tone think," _America said. He turned back to the machine.

After America saw that the message was done, he tore off the paper and finally stopped the damn machine.

"What's it say _now?" _Carol asked.

"Gimmie a sec," the blond grumbled, "Or else you try reading Morse code."

"Fine." The brunet crossed his arms and pouted.

America rolled his eyes. His brother was _so _immature.

"Hey Ply?"

"Yeah?"

"What's it say?"

America groaned. It would have felt so good to hit him, but he'd make a big-ass deal out of it. Maybe America would just stick some fruit preserves in his shoes later. For now, he just focused on translating the holes in the paper.

"It says," he said after a while, "Alfred, stop. Congress finally did something, stop. She's one of us, stop"

"Why do you keep saying stop?" Carol asked.

"Shut up, that's how it's done. Where was I? Oh yeah. She's staying one state, stop. Come back to New England, stop. We found something interesting..." He drifted off. It went on to say, _"Besides it's their war not yous, stop," _but he had the feeling that he shouldn't read that bit out loud.

"What?"

"Erm, it says stop probably. He- he just spelled it a little bit wrong. Dah instead of a dit. Anyway, he says: Let me know when you're leaving, stop. Peter, full stop"

"So... You're gonna get your Yankee ass outta here? The party's gonna be bigger than the one fer Texas's statehood."

"I'm gonna have to agree about the party bit. After all, it'll make national news that a northerner came home without a bullet in him."

"Well, it ain't near too late for that."

"Look, I don't wanna clean your blood off of Texas's floor after I kick your ass, so let's go to bed. I'm going back home tomorrow on the first train, carriage, or barge heading north and I'm not coming anywhere near you after that if I can help it."

Carol gaped, "Goddammit, Ply, your philosophy 'n' science 'n' fake religions 've turned you into a _girl."_

"It's called culture, and God knows you could use some. After all, you've got what, one book for every ten people. And that's if you don't count the slaves, since I know you wouldn't anyway."

"Babbling about _culture? _Shit! You're not a girl. You're England!"

"You're as dumb as you are pissy if you can't even tell us apart."

"Tell me then, _America, _what's the difference?"

America glared at his brother. "I- I don't have to put up with this. I'm going to bed."

He turned and walked into his room for the night, slamming the door behind him. He plopped down on the bed Texas let him use and thought about what Penn's "Something interesting" might be. Because it was either that or try and fail to answer Carol's question.

June 15, 1846: Washington D.C.

England had promised himself many years ago that he would never set foot upon this god-forsaken land until it was his again, until the so-called states came back and said that they had been wrong to declare independence. But here he was. He had dragged his arse across the entire Atlantic Ocean to meet with the man that he most longed to call a boy but could no longer. And there the man was, standing right in front of the two-story townhouse and waving to England as though they hadn't refused to speak for thirty-four years (sixty-three if you didn't count the few insults that they had swapped on the boat in 1812 as speaking. England sure didn't). Normally, England would have told him how improper that was, but today he was too preoccupied remembering all the little details about him that time had smoothed over.

His thick blond hair shone in the summer sun, shifting cohesively in the breeze like one of the endless fields of wheat that he had become famous for, with the exception of that one cowlick. His eyes were bright and alive, still filled with the innocence and excitement of a child. His teeth were straight and such a straight white that they almost appeared to be polished marble. It was hard for England to say whether or not he had grown in height since he had seen him last. He had obviously grown in width, his shoulders and chest broader and without any traces of adolescence. However, in spite of that, his arms seemed slimmer, as though he was less used to manual labor than before.

England forced a smile onto his face and exited his carriage.

"Yo, Iggy! Whazzup?"

The elder nation almost winced at the butchering of his language, but he kept the smile plastered in place. He had centuries of practicing diplomacy under his belt and wasn't about to lose his cool over something as petty as a horrid greeting.

"Good afternoon," England said, "Although I'm not entirely sure how to address you. Is it true that you've taken up going by America again?"

"That's right!"

"How, may I ask, did that come about?" He tried to stop from seeming condescending, but he failed. He could tell from the way that the smile fell from the younger man's face.

"Well, you go by Britain officially now even though you have your brothers living on your dopey little island with you. It's the same thing."

"I hardly see how it is. My siblings are painfully incapable of behaving themselves, and so as the gentleman of the family I was forced to take on the weight of speaking for all of them."

"Dude, if you're the gentleman, how does everyone else act?"

England sighed. The entire point of this treaty was to avoid fighting with America, but it seems like they just couldn't get around at least one battle.

"I'll let you know that I am very proper when I'm not dealing with an ungrateful bugger like you."

"You mean like when you, France and Prussia go drinking and-"

"What I do when I'm inebriated should be no reflection of-"

"I've always heard that people are more honest when they're drunk, so..."

"Shut it!"

"Is it true that you always break down crying that I ditched your sorry ass?"

"I- I-" Well, it _was _true, but for some reason England couldn't brush it off and lie about it like other things America had said in the past. To make it worse, he could feel all the emotions he was trying to hide showing on his face. Dense as he was, the idiot would still definitely notice and most likely try to hurt him with it.

But instead, America said, "Well, that's why I'm not afraid to take Oregon, 'cause my ass is _way _more sexy than sorry."

This England could scoff at and did.

"Oh come on, like _you _don't want this," He gestured to himself in a way that was more than just a little bit suggestive.

England rolled his eyes, "I can honestly say that if it was a choice between sleeping with you and being celibate for the rest of eternity, I would choose the later."

"As if you could. I've heard stories..."

"I'm sure whatever France told you is utter bollocks."

"I donno, I've heard it from more than just France..."

"Well, they're all just jealous of my empire and will spread whatever rumors they can."

"Whatever," America said sarcastically (England was sure he heard the words 'compensating for something' muttered under the younger nation's breath), "Let's just go introduce you to Oregon. He wanted to talk to you."

"Really, I'd rather not," England said, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Why?" America asked, furrowing his brows.

"_Because I don't want to get attached," _England thought, _"Because I don't want him to be like you. Because I don't want to get hurt again," _But it wasn't like he could tell America any of that so he said, "I'm sick of dealing with immature brats."

England saw the unwavering smile leave America's face for the first time. He wondered if he had interpreted that to mean he was tired with dealing with him too.

He wondered how valid of an interpretation that was.

"Well," America said, "There are a bunch of 'em living here so you gotta deal with some eventually."

"They live _here?" _

"You going deaf in your old age?"

"No. I was just wondering who on earth would trust you with children."

Hey, kids love me!"

"That's because you're as foolish, immature, and hyperactive as one."

"At least I'm not a stogy old man who would rather embroider winged rabbits than play with a kid bored out of his skull."

England almost snapped that America had hardly seemed bored whenever he came to visit, but didn't. Six decades was far, far too short of a time to bring up the time before the war. England wondered if six _centuries_ would be enough. So instead he just said, "Well, if you dislike the way I work with cloth, maybe I should stop selling it to you."

"Maybe you should, then the South'll stop kissing your ass and treat me like the hero I am."

England snorted, "I've met _worms _more heroic than you."

"Well I-"

However, England never got to hear America's half-baked idiotic retort because at that instant a child about as high as England's knee ran around the side of the house. England blinked. This couldn't be Columbia, could it? He was so young!

"Amewica!" the child yelled, "Big bwuver Amewca!"

The blue-eyed man turned to look, "West?" He asked, "What's wrong?"

"Owgon's being mean!"

Ah, so he wasn't Columbia.

"What did he do this time?" America asked.

"He put my bwanket on a high shewf."

"How did he get it up there?"

The child rolled his eyes, "_Amewica_ if I knew dat I'd go get it."

"Yeah, okay," America turned to England with a sigh, "Look, could you keep an eye on him for a minute? I have to go yell at Oregon. Thanks!"

"_That brat ran off before I even had a chance to-" _

His train of thought was interrupted by a tugging on his trouser leg. It was that boy. America had called him West, but that just didn't seem like a real name to England so he still wasn't quite sure of what to call him. England swallowed. The boy looked so much like America had at his age: all big blue eyes and soft golden hair and innocent smiles on such a sweet chubby face. But he couldn't think about that. Not now. Not ever if he could avoid it, actually.

"What is it, love?" England asked, immediately berating himself for tacking on the endearment.

"Who awe you?"

"I'm England."

"Oh," The child looked around for a moment, "What's an Engwand?"

The Briton frowned, hadn't America taught him anything. He sat down next to the boy.

"England is a country on an island very far away. I have to cross the entire sea to get here."

The child's eyes grew wide, "Did you come ovow on one of the big boats?"

"Yes I did."

"Wow!"

England smiled in spite of himself.

"But wait," the boy's eyebrows knitted together, "You said Engwand's a countwy, but you'we a pewson."

"Well, I'm like you and America."

The child frowned, "How'd you come here?"

England furrowed his brows, "I told you, I came on a sh- erm, a big boat."

"No, I mean how could you weave?"

"Oh, yes, that."

He looked into the child's big blue eyes. They were a lot less happy and carefree than they had been moments ago. He was far away from his people too, wasn't he? England understood. Years ago, it had seemed so hard to even go see Ireland, and this boy was so young. He must have felt so empty, so alone right now. But how to explain that those feelings started to dull as time passed, that sometimes it was worth it? Sometimes nations had to leave to protect their people, but England had the feeling that he understood that much. But what about leaving to see those he loved, to escape those he hated, even just to feel the sea wind on his face and the gentile rocking of a ship beneath his feet? What did he understand, and what _could_ he understand?

"You'll understand someday, I'm sure of it."

"You suwe?"

"Yes, yes I am. In fact-"

"You know what, Engwand?" The boy asked, cutting the elder nation off.

"What?"

"You tawk funny!"

"I most certainly do not!"

"Yes you do!"

"No! I- I-" England took a deep breath, "This is the way that people talk in England."

"Wew, peopwe in Engwand tawk funny!" He started to laugh.

England glared at the boy, but he just kept laughing. The way he spoke was perfectly acceptable, thank you very much! But he wasn't going to have this fight with a child that was only- only- What age was the boy anyway?

"How old are you?" England asked.

"I don't know. Amewica's bwuver, Penn, he found me wast yeaw, but I was awound a wong time befow then."

"How long?"

"A few wintows. I-" He blushed and averted his eyes, "I kind of just wearned to count."

"Is that so?" England smiled, "Well good for you, lad."

The child smiled proudly. Then, something confusing seemed to cross his mind, "Engwand?"

"Yes?"

"What's a wad?"

"It means 'boy.' However, it's not as condescending as 'boy' is."

"Okay." He paused, "Hey, Engwand?"

"Yes?"

"How owd awe _you_?"

"About thirteen hundred."

The boy gasped, "Wait, that's a big numbew, wight?"

"Well, I'm not nearly the oldest out there, but yes, it is quite a big number."

"Awe you owder van Amewica?"

"I'm _much _older than America. I knew him when he was your age."

"Amewica was my age?"

"Yes. It wasn't even that long ago."

"Woah."

They sat together in silence for a few moments, the boy too mystified to come up with anything to say and England lacking the motivation to.

"Just curious, how long will it be until America comes back?" England finally asked.

"Wew, Amewica has to find Owegon fiwst and den punish him. It'w be a while cause Owegon's a good hider. I can never find him when we'we pwaying hide and seek. One time, he had me wooking fow wike five howews! In the end, Amewica and I had to wun awound cawing fow him to come out. Water I found out he was in the cewaw undew some potatoes. He doesn't hide thare anymowe cause I aways wook thewe fiwst." He looked incredibly proud of himself.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah! But he aways just finds new pwaces when I find his owd ones. Someday he'w wun out, though, wight?"

"I'd imagine so."

The child frowned, "But if he can't hide, he'w be mowe mean to me."

England ruffled his hair, "Well, even if he's horrible to you now, you'll appreciate him someday. Maybe not his teasing, though."

"How do you know?"

"I have older siblings too."

"You do?"

"Yes. I have one sister and two brothers. We were terrible to each other way back when. Now..." He put a hand to the back of his head, "Well, we still fight but it's more gentile."

The boy giggled, "You know what?"

"What?"

"You'we weawy nice, Engwand."

England blushed bright red, but covered it with a scoff and an, "Is that a surprise?"

"Yes. You have eyebwows wike Owegon and Viwginia, and they'we bof weawy mean!"

England raised an eyebrow, "Virginia is _mean?" _To be fair, he hadn't spoken to his eldest colony much since it unnerved him somewhat to be with someone so much like himself, but he had hardly seemed _mean. _

"Wew," the boy fidgeted, "but he aways wooks wike he wants to huwt Amewica when he wooks at him an' Amewika tews me his makes wots of people wowk hawd wifout giving 'em money. Even if they'we weawy as good as us wike Amewica says, it's stiw not wight."

"You believe everything America says, don't you?"

"Of cowse," he smiled sweetly.

This boy was so sweet, so naïve. England wondered how long that would last, how many years until he started to question the man who was his God in all but name.

He wondered why he was wondering so much that day.

He mentally kicked himself.

America finally came back out of the house holding a well-loved mint-green blanket. A very familiar well-loved mint-green blanket. He flashed England and the boy a carefree grin and bounded over. The child squealed in happiness and buried his face in the blanket the moment America gave it to him.

"Fank oo Ame-ica!" he said through the cloth.

America's grin changed into a tender smile and he picked him up.

America and tender, two things England never thought to combine before that moment. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hmm?" America asked, turning to face him, "What is it?"

With the shift of position, England could see a new corner of the blanket. Embroidered on that corner were the very same green rabbit that America had teased him about earlier and the words _"For my dearest younger brother: may you never be alone"_ in Old English.

England couldn't help but stare at it. He had given America that blanket before he left him the very first day, so that he could have a little bit of England with him while the nation himself was three-thousand miles away.

And he had kept it.

The moron had kept it.

As soon as said moron realized what the older blond was looking at, he blushed, shifted the blanket slightly and gave England a look that dared him to make something of it. At least the daft fool knew that the blanket wasn't what he had laughed at.

"Amewica? What's wong?" The boy had noticed the change in the atmosphere and looked up at his older brother with deep concern in his eyes.

America placed a smile back on his face, "I was just worried how England was treating you when I was gone."

"You don't have to! He's weawy nice!"

"Wait, what did you just say?"

"Engwand is weawy nice!"

America looked at the other man as though he had grown two heads.

England smirked and cupped his chin with his hand, "It's easy enough when you have a well-behaved child and not a little brat."

"Oh, and I assume that I was a 'little brat.'" His impression of England's accent was terrible.

"Well not initially but," he crossed his arms in front of his chest and smirked even wider, "In the end yes, yes you were. And are."

"I am not!" He whined, scowling.

The boy in his arms giggled.

England couldn't help but let some of the malice leach out of his smile at the pure innocence of the boy's laughter.

"Whatever," America said, blushing, "Let's just get this over with so that you can go home to your dopey-looking islands."

The boy gasped, "You'we weaving?"

"I'll most likely be here for a few days working out details, but I do have to go home sometime."

"I won't want you to weave! I wike you!"

Something flashed across America's eyes too quickly for England to read.

"Hey, West," America said, "I think it's time for your nap."

"But I'm not tiwed!"

"Still," America set the boy down, "just go in the house and lay down."

"But-"

"Just go," America said more seriously than England thought possible.

The boy pouted.

"_West." _

"Fine! But Engwand's a bettew big bwover van you!" And with that he ran into the house.

America kept his eyes on him the entire time.

"He didn't mean that." England said before the front door even shut.

"Even if he didn't, it's none of your business"

"None of my business?" The elder blond repeated in disbelief, "America, he's your brother! Of _course _it's my business."

"England, nothing here is your business. I've been telling you that since the 20's"

"But, but-" England tried to come up with an acceptable reason as to why he should be concerned, "If something happens to you, where do I get my cotton!"

He realized as soon as he said that, though, that it was the wrong choice, because the younger man looked honestly hurt.

"Of course," America said, "That- that's got to be really important. If it weren't for the stuff your stupid mills would stop."

"America-" England wanted to know why the comment had offended the younger country, but knew that he shouldn't ask.

"Anyway," America put a hollow smile on his face, "Let's go in and-"

England stopped listening. Anything that America said after that point would be utter bollocks and even if it wasn't the older nation was too preoccupied wondering if he should have said one of the real reasons.

Jones' Estate, near Richmond, Virginia: March 27, 1851

Virginia was sitting in his favorite lounge reading a novel that Georgia had sent him when one of his house slaves came in to alert him that the carriage bearing his siblings had arrived. He thanked her and told her to have them taken to the drawing room. Sighing, the long-haired state closed the book. He glanced at the clock. It was three-twenty-five. They were early.

With another sigh, Virginia stood. He didn't want to have the vulgar discussion that was bound to take place once he met with the other states. A proper gentleman didn't sully his ears with talk of such crude things as Yankees. However, he was one of the grandest states in this sham of a union, and sometimes his duty had to come before his privileged lifestyle.

He looked at himself in his ornately-framed mirror, straightening his clothing so that not a stitch was out of place. It was such a nice suit, made in England and adhering to the latest European trends. Such an outfit was a piece of art and had to be perfectly presented, even if it would be unappreciated. Georgia may notice, but she would be the only one. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his glasses. He got a headache wearing them for too long, but Texas had given them to him and so it was only right to wear them when she came to visit.

"_Well," _He thought to himself, _"Let's get this over with, shall we?" _

As he entered the drawing room, Georgia was the first to greet him. She curtsied and her long skirts so like a mound of freshly ginned cotton lightly brushed the floor. Virginia was glad he had had the wood scrubbed earlier this morning.

"Good aftanoon, Vahginia."

He gently took her gloved hand and placed a gentile kiss on the back, "Good afternoon to you too, my sister, how did the ride treat you?"

"Oh, I do declare it was _terrible," _She placed the hand that her brother wasn't holding to her forehead, "We were sitting right in front of a paiah of lawyahs from New York and they'd not stop speaking about- well, it makes me shuddah to even think of it!"

"You poor thing," Virginia said, letting go of her hand to offer her a condoling handkerchief.

South Carolina rolled his eyes, "Look, are we gonna sit around bein' all stuffy or are we gonna get down t'buisness?"

"I'm sorry for giving a proper lady the respect she deserves," Virginia said sarcastically.

"Y'oughtta be," The brunet snapped, "Respect ain't gonna get the goddamn Yankees off our backs, is it?"

"Without respect," the older state said calmly, "We're no better than they are."

South Carolina snorted, "Ain't no way that's it. They ain't worth a nigger's toenail. A lack a respect ain't never gonna make us that worthless."

"I think you wouldn't know the importance of respect if it came before you and sang the sweetest love ballad ever written."

"Y'now what I think, Virg? I think it's a nice day fer one a yer fancy duels."

"Both y'all are dumb," Texas said, rolling her eyes, "Why're ya wastin' yer bullets on each other? All y'all should save 'em fer the Goddamn Yankees. There's more of them 'an flies on a dead cow in ju-ly an' they're too dumb to back down. We're gonna need all our ammo fer that there target practice."

"Ladies and gentlemen," Virginia said, "Brothers and sisters, I did not bring you here to speak of war."

"Y'didn't?" South Carolina asked, "'Cause I think they're askin' fer it."

"Y'_always _think they're askin' fer it," said North Carolina.

"'S cause they _are. _An' who asked you, anyway?"

She shrugged, "Jus' sayin'."

"Look," Virginia said, ignoring the pair, "The entire point of the resolution last year was to postpone the war. We're here to discuss how we're going to use that time. We need to know what steps that we're taking to prepare and how we're going to build our forces."

"Well, that easy enough isn't it?" Georgia asked, "All we need to do is build our armies and gathah money, right?"

"Yes, that would be enough, but in addition to that," he took a dramatic pause, "we will soon be adding another member to our ranks."

"I believe that's where ah come in," Louis said, standing.

Virginia looked at the boy. He had grown significantly even since Virginia had given him his mission. Before, he had been in the beginning of adolescence, where his hands were too large for the rest of him, his limbs were too long and too thin, and his voice had cracked frequently. Now it seemed he had grown into himself. His arm and shoulders were thick with muscles from working on his little farm. His voice had dropped too: baritone to match his height.

"I've been talkin' ta West," he drawled, "Tryin' ta get him ta join us."

"West?" Asked Texas, "But all a his guys 're from the North an' he talks 'bout Ply like he bathes in Jesus' own tears."

Louis smiled, "Tha's what ah said, but ah been workin' on 'im an' ah think we 'ave a chance."

"Really?" Texas asked.

"Tha's right, li'l lady. Ah think it'll be 'leven ta nine, but it still don' matter 'cause we're better 'n they are."

"Wait a minute," North Carolina said, "Tha's only twenty, we're missin' two."

Louis sighed, "We don' know where Mary an' Delaware are goin'. They're southern alrigh', but the Yankees 're too close an' Penn's doin' everything tha' he can ta keep 'em in the Union. Tha's why they ain't here. But I don' think they're gonna fight us either."

"What's it matter?" Asked Carol, "Even if they did, they still can't beat us 'cause we got better men."

"But that's not all," Virginia said, "We've got England too."

"How y'figure?" Texas asked.

"Well, how does England run his empire?"

"With an iron fist, far as I can remember," South Carolina said.

Everyone had to suppress a laugh, but Virginia kept a straight face the best out of everyone.

"Really, though," the brunet said, "You're talkin' 'bout all the money he uses ta send them ships e'rywhere."

"I'm glad that you do actually know what you're talking about," Virginia said, "Now, where does his money come from?"

The entire group let out an understanding 'oh'

"Exactly. As long as we have our cotton, our good strong American cotton, he has no choice but to help us. We're going to have the strongest empire in the world on our side, along with our superior men. Also, it'll probably keep the Yankees from fighting for a while."

There were murmurs of agreement.

"Well then, now that we have that covered, let's step into the dining room. I had my cooks make something special and we can talk about the small details afterwards."

**History: **

**Northern Antebellum: **In the north, the period before the civil war was one of major progress in philosophy, science, literature, social politics, and a bunch of other things. This was where the second great awakening was focused, with a special emphasis on Massachusetts. Some of the ideas are referenced later in the chapter, but there are too many to really list.

"**Crazy** **socialists:"** This refers to several projects that took place in the mid-nineteenth century in an attempt to create a society free of vice. They, erm, didn't work. Two of these communities were Brook Farm and New Harmony

"**Bumps on people's heads"**: This refers to the "science" of phrenology. The idea was that the shape of someone's skull would tell you their character and abilities. This is utter horsecrap, but a lot of people bought into it in this period, and I think that America with his love of all that is science would have believed it too.

**Transcendentalism: **Basically, the idea was that intellect blinds us to the truth and we need to rely on emotion and instinct. Usually this movement is more referenced in literature. Although it's not mentioned in name (I think), this was the movement that Thoreau and Emerson were part of.

**Thoreau and Emerson**: These were two of the biggest names in Transcendentalism and were also BFFs. Emerson hired Thoreau to tutor his kids for two years, and that time is when this chapter takes place.

**Clay: **Henry Clay was probably the best compromiser in American History. He helped to draft both the Missouri Compromise (1820: Missouri came in a slave state, Maine came in free, and all states under a line would be slave where those above would be free) and the Compromise of 1850 (more on that later)

**Telegraph:** I really don't know if there were telegraphs in Texas at this time. However, I can tell you that the first telegraphs were in January of 1838 and that the east coast was connected to the west via telegraph line by 1861, so it's possible that there was one in 1845. Besides, America can get google earth in the '40s, so this is no big feat for him. They work in the method described:

"**Q." (Monroe doctrine):** The Monroe Doctrine comes up kind of a lot in this chapter. Basically it says that Europe should handle their hemisphere and we'll handle ours. This was the basis of American foreign policy up through the later half of the 20th century. Best part: it was a couple of lines in Monroe's state of the union address that _he didn't even write. _John Quincy Adams (Q if you're America, apparently) wrote it for him so that he could have a little something to say about foreign policy. Yes.

**Annexation Texas: **No, I'm not going to talk about the Alamo and Texas's war for Independence. I'm just going to say that in 1836, Texas declared its independence. Initially, America wanted nothing to do with this. First and foremost, it would lead to war with Mexico which we didn't really want (We won and got about 1/3 of Mexico's land for it). However, in addition, some people wanted Texas to come in as not one but _four _slave states, which would upset the balance of power in the senate. However, soon Britain started treating Texas like the sovereign nation that it was, and we were so afraid that Britain would control it that we annexed it. This is what America means when he says that it's England's fault we had to take her. Texas became a state on the date above.

**Oregon Treaty:** For a long time, Britain and America had both sent settlers into the Oregon Territory (Columbia was the British name, hence "British Columbia" and why England calls him that). However, by 1846 it was clear that we needed to figure out who owned what. They pretty much just extended the border that was already there, although there were of course people on both sides who wanted all of it.

**Southern Antebellum: **Basically, this was a four-level society. On the bottom, there were slaves. Just above them were hillbillies who were sustenance farmers with awful land (they supported slavery pretty much so that they could feel better than someone). Then there were the normal farmers, who had decent land and had modest but comfortable lives. Finally, there's the aristocracy. There were very few of them, but they were very powerful. They lived on giant plantations with over 100 slaves. There are some state-tans on every level of this, but most are farmers (if you want to know which, just ask)

"**The resolution last year"**: This is the compromise of 1850, which wasn't really a compromise, but rather five bills. One set the borders of Texas. Another organized the territories of Utah and New Mexico. The third one made California a state. The forth was the Fugitive Slave Act (basically, if a slave wound up in a free state you were _required _to bring them back). Fifth was banning the slave trade in Washington D.C. Basically, like Virginia said, this just bought time.

**Border ruffians: **In 1854, Kansas and Nebraska became organized territory. The Kansas-Nebraska act allowed popular sovereignty, or allowing the people in a state to vote to determine whether or not they would be slave states or free states. However, many people from Missouri jumped the boarder to vote, ensuring slavery in the new states. Yes, this takes place in 1851, but I just assume that Virginia was planning ahead and had already started having Louis work on West.

**Maryland, Delaware (plus Tennessee & Missouri): **These four states, although they had slaves, never seceded from the Union. Mostly because they were very close to the north.

**King Cotton:** In the south during and before the Civil War there was a belief that England would automatically support them because one of their largest industries was textiles and the South could embargo. However, they didn't bank on England being prepared for the War (since it was pretty obviously coming) and purchasing a lot of extra cotton before hand. In addition, their Indian and African colonies could also produce the stuff. Britain was neutral throughout the entire world, pissing off _everyone. _

**A/N:** And that's it for this week! (it's nineteen whole pages, holy crap!) May I say that I had too much fun writing Mommy!England and West. Kind of funny, I hate kids in real life, but they're fun to write.

See you in a couple of days for the Civil War: Part I!


	8. War Between States

**A/N:** I have finally figured out a way to keep myself interested in homework long enough to get stuff done: I have to go to the library. This is the first time I've gotten any math homework done in ages... Anyway, I still have a bunch to do and an Engineering paper to finish, but I figured that I'd done enough for one day that I could get started on typing this bad boy out.

Time for a (sort of) new character! This week, we'll finally be properly introducing Pennsylvania, who's in two of our three scenes. Hope you like him, because he gets to narrate next chapter. Also, we get a new-new character, California. For all of two seconds, but she's there. As is Rhode Island.

Enjoy my attempt at a decent dream sequence

**Warnings:** Language, OC!States, Politically incorrect (although more or less factually true) history

~O~O~O~

July 21, 1861: Manassas, Virginia

America was young again. He ran through the woods, giggling with joy that was spontaneous and pure. The trees overhead stretched higher than any building in the world. The ground underneath his bare feet was padded with leaves and dampness. There was clearness to the air that was unobtainable in a human settlement. His land thrummed with life and called out to him: every tree, every animal, every river, even every rock. There were also human voices that called to him, those of children like himself. He noted to himself that there were more than usually played with him. It didn't bother him, though. It just meant that he had a better chance of tagging one of them.

He heard that one of them was close, real close. The other guy was just a little bit ahead. America easily put on a burst of speed to catch up with him. He felt light in a way that had more causing it than just his smaller stature.

The other boy giggled again and America grinned. He had managed to catch up, and now his prey was just on the other side of the bushes. America jumped through the foliage

New York was _so _going down.

However, once he came out of the bushes, he didn't land on his brother. Instead, he fell face first into hard, dry soil. The noise he made upon contact was deeper than it should have been. He got up onto his hands and knees and coughed up some of the dust he had accidentally swallowed.

Dammit, he had almost had that Dutch bastard too.

He stood and dusted off his pants, looking around. He was in front of a saloon somewhere out west. The sun was long down and the stars shined like the gold he was so desperately searching for. Maybe since he was still wide awake, he'd go panning. If he found some flakes or nuggets this time of night, no one would try to take his spot the moment he so much as thought he saw something.

Before he could move, though, the doors flew open again and Carol was thrown out. The younger man flew right into America and both of them fell to the ground.

"Ow," America said, in quite the educated fashion.

"Well, it's yer fault anyway," Carol spat.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"Okay, how is it _my _fault, smartass."

"Well, _yer _the one that said that guy's hat looked like a dead cactus."

"Well it did. And he was a Mormon."

"Look, Ply, ya know I hate 'em too, but he was with six a' his friends and they all looked pretty tough."

"I beat 'em though."

"Yeah, after ya seriously messed up the bar."

"Look, are you saying I should have run when he started talking crap about all New England?"

"Hell naw! I'm sayin' ya shoulda taken him out back. Ya coulda dueled like proper men."

America rolled his eyes, "I'll be sure to remember that the next time I have a choice between an old fashioned fist-fight and having a contest to see who can blast the other's brains out the best."

"Ya should. Anyway, let's get back to the boarding house and-"

"Excuse me," Said a tiny, high-pitched voice.

Both men looked over. A girl of about five years was peeking around the edge of the saloon. She wore a simple red dress and a tiny apron. Her hair was tied back in two long braids.

"Whaddya want, little missy?" Carol asked sweetly.

She still looked unsure about talking to them, so America crouched down and extended a hand.

"It's okay," He said, "We won't hurt you."

Slowly, like a wild animal being offered food, the girl came closer until she was only about five feet away from the pair. Carol knelt too.

"So what was it ya needed?" The brunet asked.

"Well, erm," She fidgeted with her apron, "You two seemed nice, so I was… I was wondering if you could give me a place to stay for the night."

"Ya know," Carol said, "Ya shouldn't be askin' strangers for that kind of thing."

"But I don't know anyone, and I really need somewhere to go."

America sighed, "Where are your parents, sweetheart?"

"Never had any," She said simply.

"Of course you did," America explained, "Everyone has parents."

"Well _I _didn't." She pouted and took a somewhat defensive stance.

The nation had the feeling that he wouldn't get anywhere with this.

"Okay, so what's your name?"

She thought, "Well, I was just born a few weeks ago, so I don't really know, but a lot of people call me 'Cali' something, so I guess it's Cali." She smiled.

Oh. _Oh. _He couldn't do anything but gawk.

"Alright, Cali," Carol said, "Just give me and my brother a little bit of time to talk. You wait right here, and we'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"Okay," She said, smiling innocently.

Carol grabbed America's arm and dragged him around the _other _side of the saloon.

"Did you hear that?" he hissed once they had gotten far enough away from her, "I've got a baby sister!"

"What do you mean, _you've _got a baby sister?" America asked.

"Well, she's this far south, so she's got to be mine."

"Come on, just look at her. She's all northerner."

"Right. Why'd God bother to give ya a brain? You'd done just as good with a rock in there."

"Because if he would have done that, then I'd be even thicker than you and the world would explode."

"Would it kill ya ta go ten minutes without making me out to be a dumb hick?"

"Well, I donno. Can _you_ go five without trying to make it seem like your better than be just because you're southern?"

"No, cause that one's true."

"Well, it's true you're a hick."

"Well, yer stupid."

"Well, you're outdated."

"Well, yer greedy."

"Well, you don't do anything but grow plants that you can't even eat."

"Hey, I'm growing money. You get yers by stealin' it from poor people with yer law practices and banks and merchants."

"If anyone's the thief, it's you."

"What are ya talkin' about?"

"What do you _think _I'm taking about?"

"Is this more a that abolitionist bullshit? Listen, my niggers are my property an' ya don't pay property."

"They're human beings!"

"So ya think they're good as we are?"

"I- I-"

"See? They ain't people."

"They still shouldn't be forced to work for free! Especially when it's really hard and they get fed slop and sleep under leaking roofs and don't get a cent to do what they want. And they're so far away from home and-"

Carol snickered, "Yer one a' those aren't ya?"

"What do you mean?"

"One of those people who wants ta send 'em back to Africa."

"Well, it makes the most sense, and it's the fairest for everyone."

"Look, I got news for ya: It don't matter how much _sense _it makes, or how _fair _it is. Ain't you heard? Life ain't fair! An' there's never gonna be a south without slaves. You'd best give up an-"

It was right about then that America punched him in the jaw with everything he had.

Needless to say, Carol got some air. But while he was flying, the cool California night changed to a hot Connecticut afternoon and Carol's dirty working clothes changed into a nice suit.

"That's for what Brooks did," America said.

Virginia sighed, "At least you have a reason for being such a ruffian this time. Normally don't you just punch whomever you want?"

Rhode Island sighed, "And here I hoped we'd get through one fourth of July without a fight."

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be supporting us?" America asked her.

"Well," She said, winding a strand of blonde hair around one of her fingers, "You were making too much noise."

"Well, don't worry about that," Carol said, standing and dusting himself off, "If his majesty doesn't want me here, I'll just leave."

America closed his eyes and crossed his arms, "Fine then, go."

"I will."

"Good."

"Good."

"Fuckin' Hell this is bad," New York said.

"I must agree, if not with such language," Penn replied.

America opened his eyes and looked at them. The other two men were sitting at New York's dining room table, pouring over a pair of letters sitting on the warn maple wood.

"Look, Penn," New York said, "I think we have more to worry about than if I swear or not. You know, like how Virginia and North Carolina left after the rebels fired at _us _so that now we don't have anything between D.C. and the South."

"If we're going to beat them quickly, we need to stay calm."

"I _am _calm," New York sighed, "I'm calm enough to realize that if we're not careful we're fucked. Maryland and Delaware could leave us any day now, and our capitol'd be surrounded by Confederates."

"New York," America said, coming over to the table, "Don't worry about it. We'll be done here in six months tops. We have the food, the men, the weapons... Actually, what _don't _we have?"

"Two very important things," Said New York, not looking up, "Our own land to fight on and the moral high ground."

"They _think _that they have the moral high ground," Penn corrected.

The tallest of the three men rolled his eyes, "If they _think _they have it, then they have it. They're still going to have their farms destroyed if our men get too close."

"Okay, okay," America said, "So they've got home field advantage. That still won't be enough to beat us."

Penn turned his chair so that he could see America, "It was enough to beat England all those years ago, wasn't it?"

Everything shifted again. No longer were they in the clothes of civilians, but in torn and tattered uniforms. The table was bigger now, and covered with maps of Virginia marked with little scribbles and what looked like blue and gray chess pieces. General McDowell stood on the other side of the table, palms face down on the wood. The moans and screams of the dying and those undergoing surgery rang through the air. America's hair was so stiff with blood that Nantucket was stuck down flat to his head. It was uncomfortable to say the least. Almost as uncomfortable as the gaping hole he felt where hundreds of his men had been before today.

Almost.

"How did they beat us?" He asked himself, "How the hell did they beat us?"

"Rather soundly." McDowell said, "It was a logistical nightmare from the beginning. No one knew what was going on. And then Jackson was far more stubborn than I realized he would be. After that they managed to get our artillery, and then it was all over."

"So that's it?" America asked.

"It's not worth fighting anymore," New York said, "We'll attack them somewhere else another day. We won't fold before they do."

America thought of what the others were doing on the other side of the hills. He wondered how it felt to be congratulated by Beauregard for a job well done, to hear that they had the enemy beaten. It probably felt good. It probably boosted morale like nobody's business. He pulled out a chair and sat on New York's left.

The taller blond gave him a look that said, "I want you to feel better, and we haven't really given up yet, but dear god we got beat bad and this is gonna suck."

America buried his head in his hands and took a few deep breaths.

"This is gonna be a long and messy war, isn't it?" Penn asked.

America lifted his head to look at him.

It was dark now. Penn was lying on the far side of the tent, unconsciously clinging to New York. There were still those moans and screams, but at least Nantucket was free. After a few moments, America realized that he was in the present, that he had finally stopped dreaming.

Still, he looked at his brother and whispered, "Yes. Yes it will be."

September 17, 1862: Sharpsburg, Maryland

The sun was officially down. It was finally down, and now this entire mess was over for sure. Well, _really _it had been over for a while, but up until now there was no certainty in Ana's mind that the rebels wouldn't try to attack again, try to change this tie into a full out victory for themselves and yet another loss for the Union.

Given, _they _probably didn't want to lose more men at this point either, but as war was nothing but a loss of life on all sides _anyway... _

Well, in the end they didn't attack and Ana had made it through her first real battle (it had taken a little while for the boys to allow her and Cali, their "precious baby sisters" to actually join the war themselves). She almost jumped for joy.

Almost, because right now she was making Swiss cheese look solid and both Ply and New York were holding her down while Penn was pulling the twisted pieces of lead out of her with a pair of tweezers. Ana herself was biting onto a block of wood and trying not to scream. No one needed to hear her really high pitched shouts. She'd had to chop her braids of, dammit, she wasn't going to get caught for something as dumb as this. She'd have to do something stupid, like bring water. She wasn't some wannabe princess like Georgia; she knew how to shoot a gun and the union needed every man they could get. Even if they were really women.

Hey, Rhode Island had kicked ass in the Revolution and every time since, even though England had refused to teach her to shoot a gun and she had to learn on her own. Cali was barely old enough to hold a gun properly, and yet she had enlisted as a drummer boy. New Hampshire had grown up as New York's pampered little sister, but right now she was up to her ears in amputated limbs as she was performing operation after operation. If they could do it, by God so could Ana. Besides, the pain from the indignation of letting her sisters show her up would have hurt even worse than all the bullets the entire rebel army could shoot her with.

Penn stuffed his tweezers in right next to her collarbone and she hollered into the wood.

Well, maybe it would have been almost as bad. But still.

Her "doctor" gave her a condoling look.

"Don't worry, this is the last one," He placed his unoccupied hand upon her cheek, "You've been very brave, my dear sister."

Ana looked up at Penn, begging him to get the damn thing out already.

He nodded and examined the opening. Suddenly, the tweezers widened, darted forward and pulled out. Ana screamed again.

"Let her go, boys," Penn said, examining the mangled piece of metal, "The nasty part's done."

However, he hadn't needed to say anything. The moment that the other two saw that the bullet had come clear, they'd stopped restraining her. Ply's hands had gone from her wrists to her shoulders and were gently rubbing circles as he cooed gentile things in her ear. New York just kind of held her calves loosely for a moment until Penn told him to go and get bandages and fresh clothes.

"How are you feeling?" Penn asked.

Ana snorted, "How d'ya think?"

"Apparently not too bad if you can be so sardonic."

Ana rolled her eyes.

"That really is a good sign," Ply said, straightening now that he knew she was alright, "Trust me, when you can't even annoy your siblings that's when you _know _you're hurt badly."

"Indeed." Penn said, "Anyway, I would suggest that you stay with us for a while, instead of going for the front lines right away."

"But I-"

"Listen, you won't be able to bind your chest like this, and there shouldn't be another big battle for a while. You'll be alright taking a little bit of a vacation. It won't be for very long and _what is taking you so long, New York?"_ He looked over at the older state, who was at the moment fumbling with all of the medical equipment in one of Penn's chests, "Oh, for goodness sakes, just bring the whole box."

"What does it matter?" Ana asked, "It's not like I'm going to bleed to death or anything."

"Well, there have been some new discoveries recently, like how boiling the string for stitches reduces the risk of infection, as does keeping the patient clean. I don't want you to get sick, so I'm going to have a lot of wounds to cover up."

"No kidding," Ply said, "I've never seen anyone this bad, even after a firing squad. How many times did they send you over that bridge?"

Ana groaned, "All of 'em"

"Didn't they notice you'd been shot repeatedly?" New York asked, returning with the supplies.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't _think _that I was hurt too bad. I just kept saying I was still okay, or it was someone else's blood, or it was just a flesh wound. I don't know what I was on."

"It happens to all of us when we're at war," Penn says, "You're fighting with all you have, and you don't notice your pain. It takes a long time to learn to account for that rush. Just make sure that next time you check to see if it should be fatal. If it is, just lie down and wait for the battle to end and you won't get even worse. No one even cares if you're breathing."

"One thing though," Ply said, "Make sure you find somewhere safe. This one time during the French and Indian War, England got shot in the heart. He probably could have run further, but he figured that he was alright to die where he was. Then, somehow he got shoved and rolled down a hill to right in front of the door of the fort we were storming. Next two months, even after his chest was better, all he did was complain about how messed up his old man back was."

"That's right!" New York exclaimed, smiling, "I was pulled out of active duty so that I could bring him bags of snow and rub his back for him. Apparently, he didn't trust Ply to do it right."

Ana let out a snort, and suddenly pain tore through her entire torso. "Dear God, it hurts to laugh."

"I'm not surprised," Penn said, "What with how many holes you have in your abdominal muscles. We'll just have to keep you from being exposed to anything too funny for the next few days. Ply," He turned to his brother.

"Yes?"

"Here," He tossed him the empty box that used to hold bandages, "Put this over your head. We can't let her see your face."

Of course, this made her laugh again, "Ow…"

"Sorry," Penn said, "I couldn't resist."

"This is why you shouldn't make fun of someone as badass as me."

"Shut up before I say something that makes her hurt herself again."

"God," Ana groaned, "It's gonna feel like _forever _until I'm better. How long is this gonna take again?"

"Hard to say," Penn replied thoughtfully, "It all depends. It matters how your land is fairing, how tenacious your people are this generation, your natural strength, and several other factors."

"Yeah, but what do you think?"

"I really can't say."

"One or two days," Ply said with conviction, "And don't let them say no, 'cause I'm totally right."

"Your confidence is staggering and not at all expected," New York deadpanned.

"I know, right?" Ply said, grinning.

New York face-palmed.

"Anyway," he continued, "We pretty much won, and that's got to be good for our morale. I mean, it looks like a tie, but they attacked us and we pushed 'em back. People will be really, really happy once they hear about that. And," His smile changed into one Ana would call sly if her brother wasn't the one speaking, "Lincoln has something special planned."

"Something special?" Asked New York.

"Yeah. He's been sitting on this piece of paper for months now. He wanted a victory, but he wired me and said that this would be good enough. It's an executive order. He didn't say what it was for, but he sure seemed excited about it."

"Oh come on," Ana said, "You get excited and then won't even tell us what it is!"

"Hey, it's not my fault," Ply pouted, "I _told _him I would keep it a secret, but he was all like 'no, everyone needs to hear it at the right time and your tongue will slip.' I mean, really, come _on, _dude."

"To be fair," Penn said, "He was probably right."

"Oh shut up."

Ana smiled. Maybe this whole Swiss-cheese thing wouldn't be too bad.

February 1, 1863: Dover, England

"_Nice_ place you got here," America said, "You've got a great view of those cliffs. How'd they get so white anyway? Does it have anything to do with how you never get out in the sun? It seems really peaceful, with nothing but grass and trees and ocean for ages."

"Well, it _was _quite peaceful until you came and interrupted me right in the middle of tea, you idiot!"

America shrugged, "Your tea tastes like gutter water and your food tastes like shit, so I did you a favor."

"If you just came here to be a complete arse, go home! Oh, and on your way back, jump in the ocean. I'm sure that there are some sharks that would _love _to be 'friends' with you too."

"Hey, at least they'd be real."

"Uni, Flying Mint Bunny, and the others are _too _real."

"Yeah right!"

"Just because you're too much of an imbecile too see them doesn't mean..."

The older nation blinked. America was making a face that clearly conveyed that he had made a mistake even though he was trying to cover it up.

"America?" England asked, "What's wrong?"

America blushed, "I-it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"America."

"I'm telling you not to worry about it."

"America, come on. Tell me what it is. You came to talk, didn't you?"

"It's nothing," the younger nation started to shake a little bit and repeated himself, "It's nothing."

"Why don't you have a seat?" England asked, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the table, in front of America. Sometimes it was better to come at America indirectly if you wanted anything to get done.

"Thanks," He said, sitting down. He looked somewhat relieved. That was good, right?

"So what brings you here?"

"It's about things back home."

England sighed. This was unfortunate, though not unexpected, "We've had this discussion several times. Neither my people nor myself are prepared to fight the Confederacy."

"Yeah, but you're still selling them ships and stuff."

"America, I am an industrialized nation. I manufacture goods and sell them to other countries. My people have to eat too."

"So you're sacrificing my people for yours?"

"Now, now. It's not like that and you know it."

"You can't keep on selling things to them."

"Why ever not?"

"You recognize this?" America held up a piece of paper. England recognized the document, having read it the moment he could get a copy.

"I am aware of the proclamation, yes."

"Well then, why are you helping the South? You're as good as breaking your own law!"

"I am doing no such thing!"

"You're supporting slavery!"

"Selling goods to the Confederacy is _not _supporting slavery!" England yelled.

"Yes it is! If you were paying attention, this war is about slavery now, thanks to this," he waved the document, "If you're helping the rebels, you're helping slavery!"

"I'm selling to you too!"

"That's not good enough! You aren't helping us fight!"

"Last time I checked, you didn't want me to 'interfere with your hemisphere,'" England mocked.

"This is different!"

"Yes, because now you actually _want _me. No, no I take that back. You said you didn't want to be friends with me ever. You just want to take some of the power from the empire that has grown so vast the sun never sets upon him!"

America snickered, "Aren't _I _the one that usually gets hit with fat jokes?"

"Does even a third of what I say puncture your thick skull?"

"Hey, I was just trying to lighten the mood!"

"Aren't you the one who asked what bookstore you can visit to read the atmosphere?"

"Stuff it, will ya?"

"If you haven't noticed, I do not attack unprovoked. Unlike some nations I could mention, I've grown to be a gentleman."

"Hey, at least I get shit done!"

"I get things done too, just not for your sake alone."

"So that's it? After everything, after _this," _He gestured to the paper again, "You're still not gonna help me."

"America, you aren't listening. My people-"

"Can't agree on what they want to do and are 3,000 miles away. I know!" He stood, and held out a hand towards England, "I get it. I'm not as stupid and inexperienced as you all like to think I am!"

England balked at him. He'd never seen America like that, not even during the revolution. For the first time, he seemed totally competent. No, beyond competent. He looked absolutely serious and put together. His eyes were neither sweet and carefree, nor heavy with loss and emotion. They were fierce, just _daring _England to contradict anything he was saying. It made the older man really look at his former colony in a new way. He noticed now, really noticed the way that his face had hardened and sharpened, the way his arms and chest had had filled out and become quite muscular. Even if all of that anger was directed directly at England and the others in Europe, it was still... it was bloody _beautiful. _

"You think that I don't know what it's like to have my people arguing about what to do. Well, guess what? I'm a frickin' _democracy. _All that my people have been doing since the 1700's is fight! All I've done is work my ass off trying to make people happy, trying to protect them, and now..." He sat back down, "Everyone's trying to tear me apart. And even this last shot to keep my country together has failed."

"That's not true," England said, "You're not gone yet, and there are plenty of people who want to keep you whole. Your entire army, for one."

"What about you?" America asked, "How do you want me to end up?"

"I-I..."

"Come on, England, you know what you want to happen."

England sighed, "I want you to do what you need to do."

"The hell does that mean?"

"It means that you, all of you over there, need to find a balance of power. I can't help you," He stood, "You wanted to be your own man. Well, go ahead. Solve your own problems. You can't rely on me anymore."

And with that, he went inside. America could stay the night. England would give him that much. But after that, he was on his own. Fighting his brothers was _his _job.

~O~O~O~

History: 

**Gold Rush:** In 1849, gold was found in the newly acquired territory of California. People from all over (but mostly the northern US) flocked to the state, populating it quickly and giving it a distinctly different culture from the surrounding areas.

**Mormons:** These guys have been picked on since their foundation during the Second Great Awakening. They were especially discriminated against, though, in the North. The reason that there are so many of them out west is because that's where they could freely practice. Then there was the internet, and they were flabbergasted because they, like everyone else, cannot explain how magnets work.

**Abolitionist ideas:** Sadly, in this time period few (if any) white people considered blacks their equals. Even those that said slavery was wrong typically weren't going to be willing to elevate African Americans to full citizenship. One plan that appealed to many moderate abolitionists was the colonial idea, discussed here, where we would get rid of slavery, put the slaves on a boat, and send them back to Africa. It was very alluring because it ended the practice they considered immoral but at the same time they didn't have to mix with people that were _different._ Needless to say, this didn't ever happen (although a few ex-slaves did return to their native lands, most of them considered America to be their home and chose to stay).

"**What Brooks did":** Once upon a time (IDK the exact year) Charles Sumner, a senator from Massachusetts, was very anti-slavery. He gave some pretty harsh speeches, and one of them was directed at Andrew Butler of South Carolina. A while after this happened, Preston Brooks (Butler's nephew) walked into the senate with a cane and proceeded to beat Sumner with it. He left by train, and when he got home he found many new canes leaning against his house, gifts from admirers. He was never persecuted. Sumner couldn't return to the senate for like two years.

**Rhode Island:** Just some fun facts about her (Although I have no idea how much I'm going to use her again, if ever): She was born when a man named Roger Williams was kicked out of Massachusetts and she still holds a little bit of a grudge towards her big brother for kicking her daddy out, although that's almost countered by the fact that if that hadn't happened she wouldn't be alive. She can seem like kind of a brat at times, but really she just likes to do things her own way and sometimes feels threatened being in a large group since her house is so small. She kept all of Ply's impulsiveness too, which doesn't help matters. She's one of the few ex-colonies that actually looks somewhat like England.

**Pennsylvania: **He was raised by a combination of Netherlands and England. Pennsylvania proper was founded in 1681 by William Penn, making him the youngest out of the three main New England states (New York isn't _technically _part of New England, but w/e). Originally, Will wanted to call the place Sylvania (meaning woods) so that people didn't think he was naming it after himself (it's named for his dad but the king was too lazy to make a new charter). It was founded as a haven for Quakers and had a hard focus on ethics and not exploiting people. Pennsylvania made many diplomatic agreements with natives and kept them. He was the home of both continental congresses and was the capital for a while. He's probably one of the more idealistic states, always hoping for a way to solve problems without fighting or hurting people because of his history. That and I wanted to complete the Freudian trinity and his history worked too well.

**Secession:** The first state to secede from America was South Carolina in December of 1860. Within the next six weeks, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Texas all leave.

**Ft. Sumter:** on April 12,1861, Union soldiers were still on the costal fortress in Charleston Harbor. South Carotlina demanded that the soldiers leave, but they refused. There was gunfire exchanged, but there were way more Carolinians than Americans, so the army gave up the fort. No one died in the fighting, but it caused Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Arkansas to leave and was the start of the Civil War.

"**Six months tops": **No one expected the war to drag on for years. The South expected that they would easily repel the North, since they had home field advantage. The North had almost four times as many people (22mil versus 5.5mil) and many more came over the course of the war, plus eighty-five percent of factories and seventy percent of the railroads. Neither noticed the obvious advantages of the other.

**First Battle of Bull Run/ Manassas:** Basically, the North tried to invade the South and got pwnd. Hard. This showed everyone that they were wrong, and this would be a long and bloody war. McDowell was the commanding officer for the north, Beauregard for the south.

**Ply:** My guess is that the states wouldn't quite feel comfortable calling their brother "America," kind of like how Romano calls Italy "Veneziano."

**Civil War medicine:** These were very filthy times. They had no idea about germs or how infections worked. However, there were many advances made, such as the ones Penn mentions here. Not sure if this is really relevant, but I found this out while writing this chapter: adrenaline was discovered around the turn of the century, which is why Penn just says that soldiers get a rush.

"**That bridge":** During the battle of Antietam (which was the one near Sharpsburg, in case you didn't know), the two armies were on opposite sides of Antietam creek. There was one narrow bridge across the creek. The Union pushed three times to get across the bridge, and the first two times they were absolutely slaughtered Thermopylae-style (For those of you who aren't Greek history buffs, this was the one that was dramatized in 300) but the third time they got through. And here's the kicker: if they had gone a little bit out of the way, the creek would have been shallow enough to march across easy.

**The Emancipation Proclamation: **This is the piece of paper that is referenced in the last two sections. Basically, it supposedly freed the slaves in the Confederate states (so it was still legal in Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, and Missouri, since they had all stayed). Technically, since Lincoln had no power in the CSA, this did nothing. However, it was symbolic and changed the course of the war, forcing England (which banned slavery ages ago) to stop supporting the South. It was originally drafted a long time before Antietem, but Lincoln wanted to wait for a Union victory. A tie was apparently good enough. He announced it in September 1862, right after the battle, but it wasn't made official until January 1 of 1863.

**Dover: **There's no real reason that I decided to put this in Dover. It's just that I thought that London gets overdone, and it was kind of a hell hole (in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren't worth what a pig could spit) during the Victorian Era, and Dover is pretty and by the sea (Don't ya love the weather?). From the pictures on Google Images, it seems like somewhere that England would like to take holiday. And me too, the cliffs are beautiful and pale (the way I've dreamed you were). And now I shall stop with this note because I can't come up with any other Sweeny Todd lyrics and that last one was a bit of a stretch anyway.

**Friends:** As it turns out, Commodore Perry came to Japan in 1854, meaning that the whole "making friends with the whales" ark was almost ten years before this point. I was very excited about this, since the Meji started in 1868 so I thought that this dialogue would end up being another anachronism, but it's not! And the fact that I'm so happy about this is a good reason as to why I'm single.


	9. E Pluribus Unum part 2

**A/N:** Hello all! Guess what? Starting today, I'm officially on spring break! You know what that means: I'm going to spend as much time as possible over the next ten days at the library, so expect a few more chapters than normal (my hope is to be done with WWII by the 26th. And I had better succeed, or I will not be even close to done with this stupid thing before the AP test).

Also, speaking of more than normal, I've just finished posting a fic utterly unrelated to this. It's USUK and very fluffy, and if you're interested you know where to get it. Although, it seems a lot of people already found it: I had five faves in the first two hours. I was all like "WTF? I am not worthy of this much love!" However, as I am very trainable, this may mean more oneshots. We'll see if I get inspired again.

Enjoy my paltry offerings~

**Warnings: **Violence, Swearing, more politically incorrect history, OC!States

~O~O~O~

July 3, 1863: Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

Penn held his musket close as he reloaded it. Why wouldn't the southerners just surrender already? The north had the better ground, standing on top of Cemetery Ridge. Lee would have to take his soldiers through and entire open field and up a hill to break the line, and there was no way that they'd make it all the way across. They were running out of men, their supply lines were probably shattered by now, they had been fighting for almost three whole days and-

Was that a bullet that just whizzed by? And were those silhouettes of soldiers just visible through the smoke? Penn adjusted his glasses. Yes, yes they were.

Well, then.

"Men!" He yelled, "Fire with everything you've got! Don't worry about aiming, just shoot into the cloud!"

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers called back.

They sounded tired, but that was to be expected. They'd just lived through two solid hours of shelling. It didn't matter that the rebels had missed most of the time, it still wasn't easy to have artillery going off everywhere especially on such a hot muggy day.

Penn himself was shaking as he shouldered his gun. For goodness' sake, he wasn't even supposed to be here! He'd signed up as a medic back in '61, what was he doing suddenly promoted to an officer and placed on the front lines? Yes, it might confuse the enemy to have three Captain Joneses, each in charge of a different… group (Penn never could remember all of those confusing names for groups of soldiers. He had never bothered to learn, and he had been assigned his soldiers on too short of notice to commit it to memory), but _really? _Penn had no idea what he was doing.

He looked at the advancing line. They were still too far away for him to hit, especially while he was shaking like this. He wanted to fire to show his men that he meant what he said. Eventually the gun did go off, but that only led to the harrowing ordeal of reloading it.

Oh God, now he could just make out the features of some of the men: a slim soldier with long blond hair tied back in a ponytail and a pair of unmistakably thick eyebrows; a rather well-built man with slightly messy brown hair, one lock hanging down in front of his cheek.

Yes, it made sense, as they'd be good shields for the soldiers that would die if they were shot, but did the other states _have _to be in the front? It felt more like a cruel joke aimed directly at Penn than anything else. It had been tough enough for him to learn to shoot random strangers, but his own brothers? It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair! So what if they would be alright in a few hours? Penn would still be pulling the trigger, watching them fall to the ground. His shaking got worse. Now he was trembling so badly that he spilled an entire round's worth of black powder and had to try again.

The other soldiers seemed to not be having any such trouble. They boy beside him, barely sixteen, had shot five rounds off already. Penn wanted so badly to turn to him and ask how he did it, but he couldn't. _He _was supposed to be the officer; _he _was supposed to be the one there for when the others needed assistance. Steeling his resolve, he managed to properly load the rifle.

How sad was it that he considered this a major victory?

Penn shouldered his gun again and wrapped his fingers back around the trigger. He tried to shoot, he really did, but he couldn't. He just couldn't do it. The rebels were getting closer and closer. Penn considered dropping his gun and just running, but he was too afraid to be thought a coward. Heh, how ironic.

But even if he didn't have to worry about the stigma, Penn didn't know if he could have done it. He had sworn to help the war effort however he could the moment that the first shots were fired, and it was a despicable thing to go back on your word. But then again, wasn't it just as bad, if not worse, to take a life?

These men had homes; they had families. It was a terrible thing for a wife to get a letter, or even a personal visit, telling her that the love of her life was gone. It was torture for both her and her children when she had to explain that daddy… that daddy was never coming home. What did it matter if that woman and those children lived in Alabama or Ohio? And what about the rest of the poor man's family? What would become of the parents that had to come to grips with how their dear son, who'd been so happy to go off and take part in the foolish romance of war, had come to his untimely end so far away from home? And who would comfort all of the-

Penn's thoughts were ended by a screech of agony from beside him. He turned to look and immediately wished that he hadn't. The boy who had been standing next to him had been shot right through the eye. To make it worse, he wasn't quite dead yet. Instead, he just flailed like a fish that had been reeled out of the water and screamed. The remaining eye was as empty as the hole. Quickly, the screaming faded, twitching slowed and then both stopped all together.

The boy had been one of Penn's: his hat said so. However, the state hadn't even felt his death. The boy had just become part of the numb ache in Penn's belly that the state carried since the start of this war.

"_Why?" _He asked himself, "_Why does it have to be like this?" _

He looked over at the rebel line. They'd keep marching on. If any man knew that the boy had been killed, he didn't care. Nobody cared about one life, no matter how young or full of potential it might have been.

And it would just keep on being like that. Lives on both sides would be wasted until either Ply or Virge could stand and proclaim himself the victor. Every state, every single member of their broken family, had come too far. The numbness inside of Penn and the matching ones inside each one of them would just get bigger and bigger until there was nothing, _no one, _left.

Unless they ended it.

Unless _he _ended it.

This time, Penn's fingers found purchase.

May 15, 1965: Washington, D.C.

Canada was very hesitant to enter his brother's house. He'd rushed over from Ottawa as quickly as possible when the states had urged him to come, so why was he not knocking?

Well, maybe it wasn't that confusing. He didn't want to see his brother hurt, and, good _lord, _was he in pain right now. Of course, that was only to be expected. Lincoln had been America's hero since those debates, and America even _having _a hero was crazy since he always insisted upon taking that title for himself. But now that man, the real hero, the person who had saved Canada's brother's life, was nothing more than one more casualty of that brother's civil war. Canada prayed he'd be the last. If nothing else, America didn't need to lose anyone else. Also, according to New York, the National Guard had had to come in and pry America from his dead president's body. If that wasn't grotesque enough to get Canada down here as quickly as possible, nothing would have been.

So now here he was, standing in front of America's door, staring down the iron knocker. Gathering his courage, Canada grabbed the handle and rapped it against the wood three times. A few moments later, Penn opened the door with a polite smile on his face.

"Good afternoon," the state said.

"Hi," Canada replied, "How is he?"

The smile fell from Penn's face, "No better than yesterday. Why don't you come in? I just made a pot of coffee, and Ana sent Ply some maple syrup this spring. We can sit and talk about things for a little bit."

"Alright," the northern country said, allowing his brother to lead him through the house and into the kitchen.

As they walked through the halls, Canada noticed that it was as clean and well-kept as always. In spite of what his personality would suggest, America actually kept his house impeccably neat and tidy. Canada had the feeling that it was because England had hammered it into him as a child, but it was also quite possible that it was the only way that the other country could find any of his things. But whatever the reason, it was good to see that America, or at least his states, had continued to straighten up.

"These past few weeks have been really hard on him," Penn said, sighing and pouring a cup of coffee, "I mean, it hasn't really been _easy _for any of us, but it's been a whole lot worse for him. They're saying that we lost over six hundred thousand men total. Now, we states all feel our share of the casualties, but Ply had to deal with losing all of them. And then after that whole ordeal, this happens and…" He gave Canada the cup and looked at the floor as he poured his own.

"And what?" Canada asked, grabbing the mentioned jar of syrup and pouring a tiny bit into his coffee.

"Well, these past four years Lincoln was everything to him. And then, this man from _Virginia _of all places goes and shoots him. Virge himself hasn't given up the idea of fighting yet, and that only makes Ply feel as though everything was for naught, that everyone still hates him and we'll never be together again. He really doesn't know what to do, either. Part of him wants to do what Lincoln said and just be friends with the South again, but then there's this other part that wants revenge for all that they did."

Penn sighed and took a long drink.

"I see," Canada said, lowering his own cup from his lips, "How bad is he?"

The state gave a humorless chuckle, "He's barely been able to get out of bed on his own since April. He keeps saying that he's ill, but I can't find any normal symptoms beyond wanting to lay down all the time. There's no fever, no cough, no congestion, and our economy is booming right now. In spite of that, we have to basically force food down his throat, and whenever he manages to get to sleep he has nightmares."

"And you think that this is all because he can't decide what to do?"

"Yes. He _is_ sick, but it's all in his heart and his mind."

Canada looked down at the dark brown liquid in his own cup as Penn drank from his own again, "I don't think that I can help you," He said, "If America is upset because he's torn up inside, then there's nothing I can do. I don't know why New York even told me to come."

"Well, I do." Penn looked straight into Canada's eyes, "Ply asked for you."

"He _what?" _

"Yeah, I couldn't believe it either, but he insisted. He really, really wanted to see you, I guess."

"He remembered that I existed?"

"I guess so, because whenever we would come in, the first thing he would always say was 'I want to see Canada. I want Canada to come over.' After a while, as he kept getting worse, we couldn't say no anymore."

Ignoring the fact that he still had half a cup of coffee left, Canada stood. "Take me to him," he said.

"Alright," Penn stood too and led Canada the other way through the house, up the stairs, and to the end of the hall. The state rapped on a door, presumably America's.

"Ply," He said, "It's me. I brought Canada. Can I come in?"

There was no answer.

"We more or less just pretend that means 'yes,'" Penn explained, opening the door.

The first thing that Canada noticed was the stench. He physically curled up and covered his face it was so bad. It very honestly smelled like something had crawled in there and died. In a way, that was sort of true.

Eventually, Canada recovered enough to open his eyes and look inside. The inside of the room was very… different from the rest of the house. Different as in it looked as different as it smelled. Instead of big open windows filling the space with bright afternoon sunshine the curtains were shut tight, only allowing a sliver of light to fall onto the floor. The floor itself was dusty, as though it hadn't been swept in months and covered in discarded books, clothes, and burned down candlesticks. There was a large bed with its headboard pushed against the window on the left side of the room. If the curtains were open, the bed would have been bathed in light the moment that the sun broke the horizon. As it was, the room's occupant was curled up in the dark under more blankets than were necessary. Canada couldn't see his face since it was pressed into his pillow, but his gold hair seemed flat and more unkempt than usual. He hoped that it was just the lack of light, but had the feeling that it wasn't the case.

Canada took a few steps into the room. He cringed. The nation could just _feel _the mess and dust under his shoes.

"America?" He said, "America, it's me. It's Canada"

The prostrate country lifted his head to look at his brother. His eyes looked dull and flat, like glazed china. He put a weak smile on his face, "You finally came."

"Yes, yes I did."

"'S about time."

"America…" Canada said again, sitting on the edge of his brother's bed.

"Shall I leave?" Penn asked from the door.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, but I think America wants to be alone with me, eh?"

"Eh." America confirmed.

Canada couldn't help but smile. It was good to see that the idiot was still in there somewhere.

"How've you been?" America asked. His voice was scratchy, as thought he hadn't used it for days.

"I ought to be asking you that, eh?" Canada replied, brushing a strand of America's hair behind his ear, "But I guess that just seeing you kind of answers that."

"If I look even half as bad as I feel…" he took a shallow, labored breath. It seemed so hard for him to speak, "It prolly does."

"Oh, America… How did you get like this?"

"It was the war. I just had… had to keep going and being strong until… the others came back, and now… now all that falling apart is catching up to me. I… I thought I could just be strong forever, but I…" He took another strained breath.

"You know, America, it's okay to be weak sometimes. You can just rest on occasion."

"Yeah, I know... It's just that I didn't… didn't want to be weak then… I needed to… to hold out, and now I'm too weak to do anything."

"You shouldn't have let it get this far!"

"I let _them _get too far, and I had to fix it." Canada noticed that that was faster, smoother.

"America, you could have stepped aside and allowed someone else to run the war for a while. Now's when they need you in one piece."

"They needed their country to look together then. _Now's _when they need to see what's wrong so that they can fix it!" His eyes were suddenly clear and he sat up. Canada was happy at first, but then he noticed the way that his brother's arms shook with the effort of keeping him pushed upright.

If he was this bad, he shouldn't be pretending to be better again, "Don't go on forcing yourself. It's not good for you."

"Forcing…?" America looked at his brother confusedly.

"You were having trouble speaking before, and then that came out like that."

"It did?" He smiled, "It did! See, I just needed to talk to you and-"

"America!" Canada blinked. He hadn't expected that to come out actually loud.

"Y-yeah, Canada?"

"Even if you don't seem to realize this, you're making yourself pretend to be better."

"You think so?"

Canada sighed, "I don't think you can see yourself, but you look terrible. You're thinner than I've ever seen you, and your hair looks brittle, like I could just snap it off. You're pale, too. I don't that any of your permanent flush is there. But it's hard to tell, because you're stuck here in the dark, which isn't like you at all."

"Canada…"

"You're sick you dolt! Get it through your head!"

"Canada…"

"You're my brother and I love you! I don't want you to be hurt. Lots of people feel the same way!"

"Canada…" A smile appeared on America's face, but he ignored it in favor of continuing his rant.

"Look, I know that you like to think that no one cares about you and that everyone would be happy if you were split up again and every state was on their own, but it's not the way it is. You _are _America. You just are, just like I'm Canada. Get used to it!"

America laughed.

"And one more thing: If you feel so sick, you should at least be eating healthy. Penn said you wouldn't take anything, and if you do that you'll never get better. I mean really-"

Canada was surprised to find a pair of arms wrapped around him.

"Thank you."

"Erm… you're welcome, eh?"

Canada felt America's smile widen into his shoulder. And then he was gone, the younger nation on his feet, pulling at the curtains behind his bed so that they opened. The center of the room was flooded with light, revealing all the mess and dust. He shoved the window open and a visible cloud of dust flew out. He went around the room, getting the other ones. Finally, he pulled off two sheets on the wall, which Canada now noticed were covering mirrors. America walked back to the bed, and the older nation wondered if his brother had tired himself out with that little feat. However, America went instead for the bedside table, grabbing a pair of glasses and placing them on his face.

It was a bit strange to see him wearing them at home. They had been passed around before to whichever state was going out to meet with other countries, and staying with Virginia when they were all home. When did America get them, and when did he start wearing them like it was nothing?

Maybe this was a good sign, maybe it meant that he was finally coming to grips with who he really was.

Smiling, America walked into the center of the room. He closed his eyes and spread his arms, feeling the warmth of the light on all sides.

Canada just watched him stand there so still. Eventually, America lowered his arms as looked right at his brother.

"Thanks," He said, "I needed that."

Seeing his eyes sparkle like that was the only compensation that Canada could have wanted.

January 26, 1870: Unknown Location

Virginia could see the sun. That was something, wasn't it? There was good food, comfortable furniture, and light. It was almost good enough to keep him from remembering he was a prisoner, that the doors were locked from the outside, that the windows were all welded shut.

However, as it was, he wanted to get out. He hadn't given up yet. Just because Lee had surrendered didn't mean he had to.

Virginia lay in bed with the covers pulled up to his chin. In his right hand, he had an iron grip on the fire poker. The next time one of those goddamn Yankees came in, either to bring him food or water or to try to convince him to rejoin the union, he'd be ready to stab the man and break out.

There was a knock on the door. His grip tightened around the rod. It was time.

Except that it wasn't, because instead of some stranger coming into his room, he was faced with his brother. He was prepared for an unknown Yankee to edge in while trembling with fear, not for South Carolina to come in smiling as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"How y'doin?" The younger state asked.

Virginia snorted, "How do you think, being stuck in this hellhole for almost five years?"

"'Hellhole?'" Carol asked. "Look at this! High ceilings, big windows, awesome food, giant hearth. If this is hell, I'm gonna go commit some atrocities!"

"Say whatever you will," Virginia said, "But a cage is still a cage, no matter if it's made of gold or lead."

"Why'd ya make a cage outta lead? I thought ya used that fer more important stuff."

"You know where I'm going with this."

"Yeah, and I know yer bein' real ungrateful. I'da thought they'da put ya in one a those camps an' make ya live like yer soldiers" He sat down on the side of Virginia's bed, "All in all, yer pretty lucky."

"South Carolina," Virginia said, changing the subject, "What are you doing here?"

"They asked me ta come in and talk ta ya, get ya ta come back."

"You gave up?"

"Ya haven't heard?"

"I haven't heard anything of the outside world since April 19th of '65."

"Well, as soon as I realized we lost, me an' most a the other states rejoined."

"What? You of all people, the one who's _always _fought with Massachusetts about _everything_, the one left him seceded first, the one who _started this war, _are now under his thumb? I can't believe it!"

"Listen here, Virge, I understand that it's gonna be hard to ya ta give up ta yer younger brother, but they won. And yeah, I fight with Ply all the time, so I know when I ain't gonna beat him, and I ain't gonna beat him now. It don' mean that I ain't gonna be able to come back an' beat him later, but it's over at the moment. We gotta accept it and move on if we want to survive."

"What if I don't want to survive without my pride?"

"Ya'd rather _die _than just accept that we can't have slaves anymore? Well, shoot, Virge! There are other ways to keep 'em in line, and we're all workin' on those already. Even yer guys have some black codes in the works that keep everythin' pretty much like it was."

"But-"

"Come on, Virge, ya gotta keep up with the times! Most of us let Ply take control back _years _ago. We need to stay afloat, and if we're gonna do that we've gotta learn to let go."

"Never! How would they treat us? We're a conquered people, and conquered people always end up wronged."

"They don't see it that way. According to them, we never really left. I was the first ta leave, and all that they made me do was swear not to leave again and, poof, I was a full state. All that's different is that I gotta pay Sam and Fred now. I still got my farm and everything else."

"Yes, your _farm _is fine, but what of my _plantation?_ You can pay those two Negroes, but I'd have to pay two _hundred. _I can't afford that!"

"Oh, sure ya could! Ya'd come up with some way not to lose much money. Yer smart like that. 'Sides, even if yer a little less rich it's better 'an bein' locked up in here."

"If I don't give up, I don't have to worry about that choice."

"Ugh! I don' even know _why _they asked me to come here! I jus' wanted ta stay home and work, but they wouldn't stop callin' fer me until I agreed to come over an' talk, but none a ya listen ta reason! Texas threatened ta shoot me in the head, ah'm just lucky that Ply's got her glasses right now 'cause that's the only reason she missed. I thought that she'd be the only crazy one, but yer in denial, an' I don't even wanna think about what's gonna happen when I try ta talk ta _Peaches_."

"Wait a moment," Virginia said, "Georgia... Georgia is _here?"_

"Yeah. They figured that it'd be easier ta keep an eye on ya if yer all in the same place. I was just about ta go an' try an' talk her inta takin' that oath."

"Let me come!" Virginia begged, "I didn't get to see her after what Ana did!"

South Carolina looked at him, obviously thinking it over. Virginia couldn't help but shrink away from those eyes, that face. He tried to keep his eyes on that length of brown hair that drooped along the other man's cheek, since that was the only thing that was _different. _

"Okay," The younger state finally said, standing, "Get dressed. I'll be waiting just outside your room. Once I take you there, I'll just guard the door. You two deserve some time alone."

~O~O~O~

"Georgia?"

"Vahginia, s' that you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, come 'ere, sugah! Ah nevah thought ah'd see you again!"

The blond came forward and embraced his sister. She looked worse than he had ever seen her. Her hair hung down, un-styled and uncurled. Her dress was a simple one-layer affair, not like the big beautiful gowns she had warn since she'd reached womanhood, or even the smaller things she'd warn while bringing water to soldiers on the battlefield. She looked... poor. Her face did nothing to help that. She'd obviously lost a lot of weight, and her eyes had sunken into her skill. Her skin was blotchy and pale.

"What did they do to you?" He asked.

"Nothin,'" She said, "It's just that all my old clothes are hard to get into is all, hurt like ah am."

"You're not better, then?"

She frowned, "Ah still have ta have the bandages changed every day."

"Could I see the wounds?"

"No, it's not propah. The cut's all 'cross my chest and stomach. No lady'd let you see her hurt like that."

"Right..."

"Sherman devastated me, he did. He cut right through my center. Everywhere he went, he ruined. Ana burned down my house when she got to it." Tears formed in her eyes.

"Are you going to give in to them?" Virginia asked.

"Why? Ah have nothin' to go home to."

Virginia smiled at her and took her hands, "I won't either. We can support each other."

"Yes," She gripped him back, "Yes we can."

"Then come with me!" Virginia said, "We'll escape together."

"Vahginia," She let go of his hands, "Ah'm not running."

"What? Why not?"

"What could we possibly do out in the real world? Ah'm homeless and you're penniless without your slaves. Why not just stay here and live in comfort?"

"Georgia, we're trapped here!"

"Vahginia, we're _always _trapped. As long as we're alive, we're stuck doing something we don't like."

"But before the war-"

"Before the war, most of our people were miserable. Didn't you know that? Couldn't you _feel_ that?"

"So you're happy that we _lost?" _

"No, did ah say that? Ah was happier then, with my wealth and my grandness. Ah was just saying that we can't be free, so why not enjoy these chains? As long as we're here, we live in luxury. It's just like the old days! "

"Georgia…"

"We can't go back to that time, ah know. But we can pretend, can't we?"

"You're suggesting living a lie."

"Yes, but it's such a good lie, isn't it?"

"Georgia!"

"We can't stand alone from the rest of the country, but we can't stand _with _them either, so let's just sit here."

"But we… I…"

"Ah understand. It's hard for you to accept, but just think about it for a while. You have all the time in the world to come around."

"Okay," Virginia said, "I- I'll see you later."

"Right. Tomorrah, sugah?"

"We'll see."

"Alright. Goodbye, then."

"Goodbye."

Virginia left the room. South Carolina, true to his word, was waiting just outside the door.

"I'll do it." Virginia said.

"What?"

"I'll join. I'll come back."

"Really? That's great! I'll take you ta Ply. He's gonna do back flips."

"Massachusetts? Why him?"

"Well, he _is _all of America too now, so he's the one you have ta swear to."

"This is going to be terrible, won't it?"

"Naw, he still kept Lincoln's promise to make things easy. You can even half-ass the promise and he don't care. Even though he's an ass most of the time, he behaves himself pretty well at these things."

Virginia snorted, "He can behave?"

"I know, I know. Ya gotta trust me, though, the moron's startin' ta grow up. Finally."

"He's going _what?" _

"Well, ya know, he's a little more mature. Right now, he's realized that getting us back is worth more than his big ego."

"Why?"

South Carolina smiled and chuckled, "Because he's an idiot, and idiots hold fast onto those they love. So, are we gonna stand around all day being stuffy, or are we gonna get down t'buisness?"

"Just as before, I suppose we will move on."

"That's right, innit?"

"It is."

South Carolina led him away from that room for the first and last time.

**Historical notes: **

**Gettysburg: **Gettysburg, Pennsylvania saw a three day battle in the July of 1863. It was the only battle truly fought in the north. Basically, Lee (for those of you keeping score at home, he was the headshot of the Confederate army) wanted to get Gettysburg so that he could get the Baltimore Pike, a road that leads to (you guessed it) Baltimore, Maryland. From there, it would be easy enough to invade DC. However, after the third day, the Confederates were turned back, mostly because the Union was located on higher ground. Lee put together one last assault, though. First, he would shell the heck out of the union (but that didn't work since there was almost no damage done) and then General Pickett would lead a charge across a big wide field and up cemetery ridge to try to break the union line. It was a terrible failure, and there were many casualties. My APUS class took a trip to Gettysburg, and it's pretty obvious as to why: the field is long, bumpy, and hard to walk over. Once you get to the lip of Cemetery ridge, there's this road that dips down into the ground. You then have to jump over a two-foot tall wall. This is easy enough to do… if it's a brisk autumn day, you're wearing light clothing, visibility is good, and you're not being shot at.

**Civil War Hats: **These just look honest to god weird. The top of it is tilted forward. However, there was a use to this as your hat would have your division and regiment on it. I bought one on that trip to Gettysburg, but since I'm a ginger it's a Confederate one. Still, I got to wear it while writing Virginia's part. It was kind of fun in a stupid way.

**Lincoln's Assassination: **Everyone's heard the story: President wins the war, goes to see a play, gets shot in the head by an actor and dies the next day. Unfortunately, with him died any hope of a quick and easy reconstruction. Many northerners had a deep hatred for the south for killing their main man. However, Johnson, his VP, wanted to be lenient with the South as well. For reference to the dates in the story, Canada comes a month after Lincoln's death: enough time for America's siblings to agree to tell him that he needs to come over, and then for him to make it.

"**Those debates": **Canada is referring to the Lincoln-Douglass debates of 1858, basically about slavery. This throws Lincoln into the spotlight after he gets Douglass to admit that slavery was only legal if states made it legal and that it wasn't a god-given right (this pissed off a lot of southerners)

**Readmittance into the Union: **After the Civil War, both Lincoln and Johnson planned to try to get the South to regain full membership as states as quickly as possible. Most of them returned in the summer of 1868. However, three states, Virginia, Georgia, and Texas, didn't come back in until 1870. Virginia came back on the date of scene three (odd fact: he was governing himself again before he was reinstated), Texas rejoined in March, and Georgia didn't come back until July. Also: I don't care what Microsoft says, "readmittance" is a word.

"**One of those camps":** This is not my area of expertise, but I am aware that during the Civil War both sides had terrible POW camps. Many people who had been captured died, and those that didn't lived through hell.

**Black Codes: **these were sets of laws in southern states that systematically removed the rights from African Americans, often specifically to keep them from voting after the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth amendments were passed. In addition, the sharecropping system was set up, which kept blacks in pretty much the same condition that they had held as slaves. This continued up until the 1960's.

**What Ana did: **Sherman's march to the sea (November and December of 1864) was led by, you guessed it, General Sherman. He was from Ohio, and absolutely destroyed much of the inner land of Georgia.

**Half-ass the promise: **To become a state again after leaving the union, all that had to be done was to rewrite your state constitution and have 10% of your voters pledge loyalty to the union. Full pardons were given to anyone who took that oath, with the exception of people with over $20,000 in total assets and leaders (military and government). All that _those _people had to do was write to Johnson personally. By 1865, most pre-war southern leaders were back in office.

**A/N:** Did I just go an entire chapter without letting America narrate, and only let him show up in one scene? I think I just did 0_o And next chapter, the Gilded Age, will not necessarily be better, with the Homestead Strike (Penn again), the Triangle Shirtwaist fire (New York), and Feminism (either Rhode Island, Maryland, or Ana. I haven't decided yet). If I feel like it's short enough to add some Muckraker-ness and Teddy, then we'll get America, but if not we have to wait on both servings of awesome until we go to my combined chapter on Imperialism and WWI. Yes, we're going a wee bit out of order, but that's how the book is written, that's how the material was given in class, and that's the way that works best thematically.


End file.
